


Fires of Freedom

by halosaximus



Category: Gay baby gang, The Misfits (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, At least theyre dumb when it comes to their decisions, Centaurs, Dragons, Dwarves, Elves, Eventual Romance, Except the Gods and Goddesses are all Dumb as Shit, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Giants, Gods and Goddesses, High Fantasy, Holy Shit the World is Ending, M/M, Mages, Merpeople, Mutual Pining, Once Again Swagger Has a Dragon For Some Reason, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sacrifice, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Burn, Subplots, Swagger Has a Dragon for Some Reason, Swords & Sorcery, Violence, War, just want to make that clear, like SUPER high fantasy, uhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halosaximus/pseuds/halosaximus
Summary: John, a rebellious mortal hunted by a tyrannical and merciless king, finds refuge in the form of the great fairy Smitius. When he learns that the planet he walks upon is dying with each passing second, he makes the decision to help the fairy save their world by travelling to the end of the earth to bargain with the Gods. With the help of an ex-assassin, an isolated mage, a forgotten knight and the Elven King himself, saving Erestia may just be possible- but with King Wilfor on his tail, their chances of succeeding are only running thinner.Even as the life and magic of Erestia slowly drains, John still has hope- in their journey, in himself, and in Smitty. It will work, John knows, because all life would perish if it didn't."It was exactly then, John decided, that as long as there was a beating within his chest, Erestia would live to see another day."





	1. No Honor in Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "No Honor in Blood" by Two Steps From Hell [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNdZu0A6Qks)

Never in his life had stone bled such a cold, nor had his knees ever been so weak upon it. He had no strength left in his breast to draw tears, no will to raise his eyes from the ground in defiance, no regret in his heart to beg for mercy before his king. Sharp pains gnawed on every inch of his body, plaguing him to his core- but as he faced his fate, he knew it would one day be worth it.

“Jonathan Keyes, you have been brought before the throne on account of your actions opposing the crown. You may state your case, and His Majesty himself will decide your fate.” He could feel his stomach threatening to spill over with every passing word. The knight spoke of a choice, but his book had already been written when he’d roared words of defiance in the town square not a day prior. There was no decision left to be made. 

His throat, bereft of moisture, spoke in hoarse confidence. “His Majesty the King has wronged his citizens for too long. I am but a mere protester fighting for my God-given civil rights, not only as His Majesty’s servant, but as a mortal man.”

An unrest veiled the room, for even those closest to King Wilfor knew that John’s words bled nothing but raw truth. That didn’t alter the fact that Wilfor’s five children standing beside his throne were destined to rule as their father had come his passing, nor did it change that every guard, servant and knight standing in that hall lacked the valor to oppose the man they blindly served. 

Wilfor stood from his throne, and he could practically taste the king’s anger, his resentment, his _disgust_. Clenching his jaw, John could feel that exact, raw hatred brewing thicker for the man before him. His bound hands clenched behind his back, and he blew a quivered breath from his nose as the king’s feet halted directly in front of him.

The hall had gone deathly still until the king spoke, a numb repugnance oozing from his voice. “It truly is a pity. You have a wise tongue- and yet, you’ve chosen to use it against me.” John could feel his body beginning to shake. No matter much courage he bore, there was no ridding of the primal fear within him as he was sat before the jaws of death itself. 

“As a merciful king, I shall grant you this one chance.” The king spoke highly of himself- much higher than he was. There was no mercy in that man’s heart, and if there ever was, it had been crushed long ago. “You will kiss my feet and swear your undying loyalty to the crown if you truly wish to live. You will strip yourself of all resentment to the throne and brand yourself with unwavering devotion. Choose wisely, pig.”

It took not even three seconds to make his decision- and as his spit landed on the king’s leather-bound, jewel-studded boots, he knew that his final act of defiance had been worth the effort. It took not another second, however, for the king to ram his boot into the side of John’s head, knocking him to the cold stone, and landing another kick to his empty stomach for good measure. This, he thought, was what he deserved, for he would rather die than bow before that man again.

Opening his eyes, John’s gaze landed upon the Crown Princess Bordia in her glory, her chest pushed forward in confidence yet her face bearing pity and pain, but for what he couldn’t be certain. He’d seen that look on her before- everyone had, from the highest knight to the lowliest peasant. It was the look she bore when her father wasn’t watching. He wondered if she knew that everyone else was.

And as his body was hoisted from the ground to be dragged to the dungeons beneath the castle, he could only pray that when Bordia took the throne come her father’s passing, she would bring about the change in which John was unable to achieve.

~#~

Come the rising sun in the morrow, he would be laid out before the guillotine for all of the public eye to see. A “demonstration,” Wilfor had titled it, for any others who dared to speak against their king. And for the executions he’d seen carried out in the past, he had to admit, it was most certainly not the worst way to die. 

Beyond his barred window, the light of a full moon bled through to stain the ground in a dull silver. His back rested against the damp, bone-chilling stone wall, and his legs were extended so much as to nearly touch the opposite end of his small enclosure. He could still taste the blood he’d coughed up when the king’s boot had met his stomach, and he could feel it stained to his chin. It truly was a pity. At least, it felt that way in the moment. His only coherent thought in those fleeting seconds told him that all of his other thoughts had no chance of being translated by what was left of his mind.

Within a mere moment, the stillness of the night was disturbed. It was when a bird landed between the bars of his cell window that the chaos wrecking havoc to his mind seemed to come to a standstill, and the gears in his head slowly began to turn when it fluttered down from the sill to meet the stone floors. His hand, loosely clenching a rock just near the size of his palm, moved on its own within those few moments of coherency.

Bird bones, though delicate, could be- he presumed with no prior research- easily sharpened. That lock on his cell door wasn’t the most complicated he’d seen, either. And, if he could sharpen that rock’s edge just enough, it would make for a good knife. 

The plan he configured took no more than minutes to formulate, and as simple as it seemed, he would still run into trouble later down the road with the king’s men. But he had a way out, and he had a will to match it.

He had no idea where he’d go if he made it beyond the castle, let alone the city, but that fire within him still burned bright, despite how his battered body held him down. 

He had a way out, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy yall !!!! first part is super short, but others are gonna be a lot longer !!!!! also notice how each chapter is titled after an orchestrated piece; i linked the song in the beginning notes for anyone interested !!!! i highly recommend giving it a listen, and there'll be another each chapter !!!!!!! feedback is always appreciated, and thank you for reading !!!!!!!!!


	2. Birth of a Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Birth of a Hero" by Two Steps From Hell [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSvnxv_Mh2A).

As John lie there in the underbrush, scarlet bleeding through the cloth wrapped tightly around his forearm and an ankle twisted seemingly beyond repair, he noticed, for the first time, just how quickly the stars moved about the sky, and just how brightly the moon shone in the great wilderness. He’d never known so many stars existed until he’d reached the end of his road.

For a peasant and a wanted criminal, this was, as he assumed, the best way to die. Losing blood at a frantic rate, his entire body threatening to give out from a lack of water and nutrients, three days gone by without an ounce of sleep. He now lay collapsed on the forest floor- and perhaps, that was a sign of a path coming to an end. He wasn’t quite ready to die just yet, but if it had to be so, John would take this path over all others. And if he couldn’t make it to the promised land with his sins, this land was promise enough.

When he heard the snapping of twigs and flattening of leaves not even a few meters from where he lay, he knew his hopes of passing in solitude had ruined. He guessed they would take him back to the city, perhaps give him the most horrid death sentence carried out in all of Valian history- slow, painful, public, and all that came with.

But as he turned his head to meet his visitor, his eyes landed upon what he could only assume was a figment of his imagination. Great wings of azure, glistening glass sprouting from his back like that of a butterfly, an elegant gown of white adorning his figure. His eyes, so wide to be seen clearly through the distance between them, seemed to glow a bright sapphire in the dark. His skin was as pale as the moonlight yet seemingly as soft as silk, and when he spoke, his voice ran like a stream through a silent wood.

“You’re injured, stray mortal…” The stranger spoke, now standing by his side, unmoving. John gazed up at him, his eyes threatening to close. Yes, he thought to himself; if he was now to die, this last sight would be one to behold. 

“Yes…” John replied, his voice weak and barely coherent in his own ear. The stranger looked down upon him in worry.

“You’re dying.” He couldn’t find a voice to respond. His hand dug into the soft dirt below him, and his eyes began to fall as the stranger only watched on, his face bearing a look of pity and concern. And oh, how stunning this winged stranger was, with masculine features, while simultaneously so unusually soft.

And, as his eyes fell closed, seemingly for the last time, he could only think to himself: yes, this was truly the best way to die indeed.

~#~

When John awoke, he was sure his soul must have made it to the House of Velios, for he’d never seen a home so amiable. He found himself gazing around a small cottage of sorts, walls lined with shelves bearing bottles liquids and medicines, and baskets of fruits and herbs. Various, odd trinkets were laid upon almost every surface, some ancient and others beyond recognition. The cottage itself, however, was warm and lit only by the bright sun streaming through the open windows, letting in a most pleasant breeze. Birds sang in the sill and insects buzzed about as if the cottage was theirs, and John found that he didn’t really mind.

He’d been so enamored by the sight, he’d barely noticed how his wounds had been dressed for him. The hole left from a kingsmen’s arrow had been bound neatly in a thick cloth, his ankle showed not even the slightest sign of irritation, and no bruises were left to cover his bare skin beneath the blanket. However, even as healthy and healed as he felt in that moment, the bed beneath him sang so sweetly to him, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to leave. But even still, his legs felt heavy- much too heavy to move- and his entire being felt so exhausted, he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the strength to walk again.

The door to the cottage slowly swung open, and the stranger he’d encountered before entered with a large basket in his hands, its contents unknown. John took notice of how large the doorway was, and how even with its height of at least seven feet, the man still had to adjust his wings to fit them neatly indoors. John marveled not only at the wings, but at the man himself. It was as if his skin glistened in the light of the sun, and his paper-thin wings allowed that light to pass through themselves, leaving its remnants in the azure hues it reflected.

“You’re awake,” The stranger inclined, setting the basket upon a stool by the door. John craned his head forward to see a porcupine sleeping soundly within it, and he furrowed his brow in question. “You’ve slept all morning. How do you feel?” 

The stranger moved to sit in the chair at his bedside, and John couldn’t help but notice the man’s features up close. His eyes, though they had previously shown blue, were now a deep carob brown, but not quite deep enough to complement his neatly-cut hair. The man himself was a sight to behold, what with his soft features and movements of a most elegant nature, but his wings, so firmly catching his eye, were a sight in themselves. 

Both wings were nearly the height of the man they resided upon, and a single one must have spanned at least two meters at its longest point. It took him a moment to realize that there were not two wings but six, separated into three on each side, each with a design so similar it was difficult to differentiate between them. They looked as frail as wings of a butterfly yet glimmered like stained glass of a cathedral, a deep azure with streaks of silver curling into intricate designs. Both sets were equal in every form of the word, not a single color or streak out of place.

The stranger gave him a concerned look, and John had to remind himself to respond. “I- ah, I’m not in too much pain. The only thing bothering me is the arrow wound.” His host furrowed his brow and gently took hold of John’s arm. He refused his body’s calling to pull away.

“Is that what this wound is?” The stranger gently unwinded the wrap to reveal a few damp leaves resting on the injury beneath, and when taken off, John had to tear his eyes away from the sight. Though not nearly as horrid as it had been before, he still had a weak stomach, even for his own wound. “May I ask how it came to be?”

John swallowed, letting his eyes close as the stranger set to work redressing the wound with fresh bandages and...whatever those leaves were. He’d read plenty of books on medicine before, but he’d never seen anyone treat a wound with leaves such as those. He began to question just what this man was, what with his wings and calling John mortal and all. For a moment, he briefly wondered if this man could have been one of the great fairies of legend, but there was no telling.

“I was...being hunted.”

The stranger furrowed his brow. “By whom?”

“The king.”

“King Draedius?” The stranger’s tone sounded almost offended by John’s response. John gave him an odd look in reply. 

“No...no, of course not. I speak of King Wilfor. He’s been king for two decades.”

“What- what happened to King Draedius?”

“...He died. How do you not know? There was a mourning across all of Vale before Wilfor arose to power.” The stranger finished wrapping his wound and sat back in his chair, his face bearing a great bewilderment. John was just as confused as he was.

“I...don’t know. I haven’t had company in...well…” The stranger bit his lip. “...half a century, I’d reckon.”

“Half a century-” John repeated, his voice whisp-like in sheer astonishment. “-you look not a day over twenty!” He shook his head in disbelief. “Who are you? Why have you saved me?”

The stranger’s wings fluttered in shock as his eyes grew wide. He then cleared his throat, his back straightening. It was as if he was preparing for a speech. “I am Smitius,” He began, his voice now holding certainty within it. “Fairy of the Greenwood, Keeper of Nature.” Smitius swallowed in his throat. “And you?”

Well, John supposed, he stood (laid) corrected. Here he was, acting like a fool before a fairy- a direct descendant of the gods themselves. He should be kneeling, kissing Smitius’ feet and begging for forgiveness for not addressing him properly. And who knew which Gods or Goddesses he was related to? He could have been related to Velios himself, for all he knew.

However, Smitius didn’t look the least bit offended by his lack of manners. He seemed more interested in John than anything, and from what he now gathered, he wasn’t sure the fairy would even care at all if John refer to him in whole. Even still, it was now apparent that he was talking to a fairy, and he wasn’t going to take any chances.

But how does one introduce themselves to a literal, breathing deity?

“I’m...John.” He swallowed. “Jonathan Keyes.”

“You have three names?”

“Three names?” He repeated, and it soon clicked. “No, my full name is Jonathan Keyes, but my shortened name is John.” Smitius only gave him the same confused look. “Say, your name is Smitius, but for short, I would call you...I don’t know, Smitty.”

Smitty raised his brow, but only gave him a light smile, his wings fluttering gently once again. John was sure he saw a minute dash of glistening specks fall from them. “Well, John, I wouldn’t mind if you did call me Smitty. A lot easier on the tongue than Smitius, Fairy of the Greenwood, Keeper of Nature.” The air suddenly felt lighter, and John didn’t feel quite as intimidated as he had before.

Smitty gently grasped the covers and pulled them down to reveal John’s chest, littered in gashes covered in more of those strange leaves. Some sort of treatment, he assumed. “Now, do you mind telling me just why you were being hunted?”

John bit his lip in thought, and Smitty began removing the leaves one by one and placing them in a bowl with the others. This fairy was kind enough to save him- he may as well be honest, despite the fact that he may just be hiding his wrath. He prayed that Smitty was as gentle as he seemed.

“Well...I stood in the town square and spoke the wrongdoings and evils of King Wilfor, was sent to trial at his throne because of it, and escaped his dungeons before I was put to death. At least, that’s the short version of it.” Smitty’s brow furrowed, but he continued his diligent work.

“What wrongdoings has the king committed? And why would a king put his servant to death for mere criticism?” He questioned, his head shaking in disbelief. “That does not seem the way of a king at all.”

John let his eyes close once more. “Wilfor is king, only because he wormed his way into the good fortunes of Draedius without an heir to get in his way. He has now assumed complete control over his kingdom, and has began to...brainwash his people into following him.” Smitty paused, and their eyes met as he continued. “He burned my father’s library with him in it to rid of knowledge that could have prompted rebellious ideas in the next generation, and he took my mother when he refused to allow rare and expensive medicines in our hospitals. He’s controlling his people through fear, and by the looks of it, it’s working, and…” John shook his head. “I knew I had to make a stand, for those who never had the chance to.”

Smitty let out a long, dejected sigh, removing the last of the leaves from John’s chest. He then grabbed a nearby bowl of a honey-looking substance and began to apply it in small amounts with a brush along the gashes, and despite the initial burn, it sank into the wounds with a pleasant ease. 

The fairy was silent for a few long moments before he spoke. “It truly is a shame how vile some people can be. To think, there had once been a time when every race had lived in harmony-”

Across the room, the porcupine heaved where it lay, its entire body moving as it began to cough profusely. Smitty quickly set the bowl to the side and rushed to meet the creature, grabbing a bottle from the shelf as he went. John groaned as he sat up in alarm. 

Smitty tipped the bottle and let some of its liquid contents drop into the porcupine’s mouth, whispering to it as he went. The creature stopped coughing after a few moments, but as Smitty sat by his side once more, he noticed how its stomach would still puff out now and again. He lay back down upon the bed to let the fairy finish, his brow furrowed. 

“What’s wrong with it?” John asked him, looking to Smitty for an answer. The fairy only sighed again, moving the brush along one of the last gashes, and perhaps, one of the largest he’d acquired. That one had been from the sword of a guardsman at the city gates, and at the time, he’d never felt so much pain in his life. 

“It’s dying,” He began. “As his brothers and sisters did before him. His entire family has suffered.” The way he spoke of the porcupine like a person piqued his interest, but he didn’t elaborate. 

“Is there some sort of sickness going around these woods?” Smitty gave him a look of great sorrow, and John felt a pang in his chest just at the sight of it. He guessed he should have seen it before; this fairy was kind, but most certainly not the happiest creature. 

Smitty finished his work and set the bowl to the side, once again leaning back in his chair. “It’s happening everywhere. The entire planet is being faced with a great epidemic as we speak, and though its reaches are currently small...its bound to worsen, and soon.” Smitty rubbed his wrist as he looked to the floor, shaking his head to himself. “Everything’s beginning to die- to lose life, more specifically. And as life fades...magic fades faster.

“I could have healed you in a heartbeat, were I the fairy I was a century ago. But now, as life fleets and magic grows weak across Erestia, I don’t even have the strength left in me to retract my wings, let alone use them for flight. I’ve spent the last decade searching persistently for a cure, but I came to the conclusion that only a God can reverse what has been done- and I’m nearly certain in my words when I say that a God may have caused it.”

It felt as if his heart had stopped beating. He had so many questions- a part of him doubted that what he said was true- but this was a fairy, much older, and most certainly wiser than he. “How can you be so sure? About any of this?” 

Smitty ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slacking in sorrow. He noticed how Smitty composed his movements as if he were a character in a play. John found himself admiring it more than anything, even in their current situation. 

“The Gods have despised their creations for a very long time- even us, their own children. Just look around you. It’s as if a kingdom getting along with another without some sort of peace agreement between them means the end of all things, and it seems the only races left to know better are the elves and the centaurs. The lust for power from those in positions of it have cursed their own lands, and perhaps, the Gods now want us to pay for it.” Smitty’s eyes grew wet, and John felt his chest tighten in pity. “I am the last of my kind, and I am not even a son, but a grandson. I’m a disgrace, and the Gods have punished me for it. And now, they wish to punish every other living thing they’ve created.”

John had so many things he wished to ask, and in his shocked stupor, the first thing that came out of his mouth was perhaps the least important. “What do you mean you’re a “disgrace?” You’re a fairy!”

“Maybe so, but I am only-” Smitty paused, swallowing. “-I am only a _grandson_. My mother was a fairy, and in her wish for a child of her own, the Gods killed her, and killed the rest of their children to leave me here in isolation as punishment.” Smitty shook his head, straightening his back and quickly wiping his eyes. “But it matters not. That is now in the past.” 

John wanted to reach out and comfort him, but seeing as how Smitty refused to speak more about it, he stayed put. Smitty’s past wasn’t his business, but he was sure they both knew that the end of Erestia most certainly was, and he found himself searching for an answer. 

“Well...do you have any ideas of how we can reverse it?” John questioned. “You said the Gods are causing it, but is there a way we could convince them to reverse the effect?”

Smitty shook his head, and for a brief moment, John’s chest sank deeper than it ever had before. “The only place where the heavens and Erestia intertwine is the Northern Fane at the upper pole. There is no other way to speak with them. The issue with that is, with all of these troubled relations between kingdoms, I’m too weak to fight my way through places like the dwarvish kingdom of Brundirth, and Grentor in the north where the Fane lies. If I had enough power, perhaps I could have persuaded them, but alas…” Smitty droned. “...here we are.”

John’s eyes lingered on the fairy a few seconds more before they found the ceiling. Despite his current immobility as well as the fact that he was a wanted criminal, he found himself pondering the odds. How far was this ‘Northern Fane,’ and truly how onerous was it to get there? Last he’d been told, the giants of Grentor were working towards a life of isolation, and the dwarves were set to slaughter anything undwarvish that stepped past their borders- mortal men, most of all. However, Feradonia laid between the two- and the elves, so great in their promise of hospitality, were civil enough to keep their noses out of hostile kingdoms’ business. If a journey was to ensue, their land may as well have been a safe haven.

Smitty stood, smoothing down his gowns as he went. John suddenly wished he’d seat himself once more. “Rest, John. Let yourself heal.” Smitty pulled the covers back over his arms, brows furrowed. “Now is not the time to sully yourself over endings and atrocities.”

Smitty grabbed a basket of fruits from his shelf and fled the cottage, leaving him, once again, to his lonesome. For a while, he lay there, wondering just who the fairy really was, and how they could possibly make it to the Fane to bargain with the Gods. However, his exhaustion soon overtook him, and he found himself sinking deep into the bed.

When he later awoke, the crickets had awoken with him, for night had fallen beyond the cottage window. He found strength in his limbs, and looking around the room, he also found a pile of clothing set off to the side- as well as an empty basket where a porcupine had once lain. His eyes befell the latter with sorrow, though its definite fate was unknown to him. A day ago, he wouldn’t have batted an eye at such a miniscule loss, but knowing the cause of its death only amplified his grief. 

He stood from the bed and nearly toppled over, so he allowed his body time to adjust, which involved standing in that dark cottage for an unknown yet expanded length of time. Eventually, he grabbed the cotton shirt from the pile and slid it over the dried honey-like treatment upon his chest, thankful when it didn’t stick together. The trousers Smitty had left for him were a deep pine green, and although tight, they were certainly meant for athleticism with how much room they allowed him to stretch. The boots he’d been given were designed in the same way, with a thick yet comfortable leather build. He wondered where Smitty would have acquired such garments as it seemed he only wore those loose gowns of his, but he didn’t trouble himself over it. 

Not knowing what to do next, and unsure of touching anything in the cottage that didn’t belong to him, he stepped outside into the warm, summer dusk, an air cleaner than anything he’d ever felt in the city. Everything around him felt so much more real than anything he’d experienced before, for that matter; never had the light of a sleeping sun shown so brightly, and never had nature’s inhabitants sang so sweetly around him. 

Even still, nature’s beauty couldn’t outshine the dead tree not too far from where he stood, nor the patches of grass that had gone grey around him. 

From the underbrush, a young doe emerged, holding herself in sheer confidence. How odd it was that a creature he’d known all his life to sprint from the first sign of a mortal would be so welcoming in Smitty’s forest. He took another step forward, curious, but the doe’s valor ceased to falter. 

The doe approached a moment later though didn’t come closer than a few meters away, and made a low noise in her throat as well as a sharp turn of her head. John furrowed his brow only for the doe to repeat the action once more, making her intention clear. For a moment, he doubted his own stability to think that a deer was trying to communicate with him; he’d forgotten who’s forest he walked upon.

“You- you want me to follow?” The doe made another noise in her throat, her head bobbing before she turned back into the underbrush. John only stood for a moment before he forced his feet to move along with her, making his way through the dark with near-blind haste. 

He followed the doe until he could see a clearing in the distance, with what looked to be a cliff ahead of it. Smitty sat upon a fallen log not too far from the edge, silent and still, yet John could feel himself being drawn towards him. What he’d shrugged off to be a figment of his imagination was now proved to be true; his wings were illuminated in a bright azure, miniscule specks falling from them like shooting stars. Smitty turned his head to meet him when he approached, and even at a good ten meters away, he could see the fairy’s eyes of a matching hue cutting through the dark, gentle yet bone-chillingly piercing. 

John came to stand by his side, gazing out at what lie below the summit. Even in the dark, he could see the fallen trees, he could hear the epmtiness where calls of night creatures should have been- he could feel the forest dying. He wasn’t sure if it was from some odd energy from standing next to Smitty, but he could practically drown in the sorrow that radiated from the fairy. He’d never felt such suffocation. 

His eyes found the ground, unable to look any longer. “How much time does Erestia have?” He questioned, arms crossing over his chest. Next to him, Smitty didn’t flinch in his reply.

“For humanity, I would say perhaps a year or two, if the king keeps inisting upon giving the most to his war effort.” John swallowed, his eyes falling closed. “I’m sure the elves will outlive even the best of Erestia, but even they won’t be able to hold onto their lifeforces much longer than a millennia.”

John turned his head to face the fairy. “And what of you?”

Smitty was silent for a long few moments before he gave an answer. “My entire being functions on raw magic. If I keep spending it on the protection of my forest as I am now- even in my small amounts- I’d say I don’t have much more than a decade.” 

John found himself seated upon the ground, head in his hands. This was far too much, and far too fast; just yesterday (or was it? How long had it been?) he’d thought he’d see the end of the world through his own demise, but now, even as a free man, he would have to watch it rot at the seams. And whatever the cause- whether it be the Gods themselves or something unheard of- there were too many lives unlived, too many innocent souls being put to death before their time. 

It was exactly then, John decided, that as long as there was a beating within his chest, Erestia would live to see another day.

“We can’t just accept that,” John turned his head to face Smitty, finding a man looking to be devoid of hope. “We can’t just give in! There’s still a chance yet, and as impossible as it may seem, the Northern Fane is our only shot!”

Smitty shook his head, hands clenching together upon his lap. When a tear fell from his eye, it rolled off his face to meet the ground, leaving a dull flash of azure blue in its wake before it faded once more. “Even if we were to reach the Fane, we have nothing to offer the Gods in return for our lives- if the cause of this suffering has even been brought upon by them. Even still, they despise me-” The fairy turned to face John, his face wetting in tears. “-why would they even bother to listen?”

John swallowed in his throat, moving to sit upon his knees. Smitty watched him, his body turning just slightly in interest. When he responded, his voice was low, yet oddly kind in his own ear. “It matters not how we get to the Fane, nor what happens when we do get there.” He rested his hand upon Smitty’s in comfort, and although still, the fairy soon wrapped his own hands around it. “What only matters is that there’s a chance, and if it is to be the only option, then so be it.” John furrowed his brow. “The world depends on it.”

Smitty was silent before he gave him a look of disbelief, shaking his head. Even still, a smile began to grow upon his lips, and his hands clenched just slightly around John’s. “You truly are the most odd human I’ve ever stumbled upon…” John huffed humorously, and Smitty turned to face him with a solemn expression. “Are you quite sure you’re prepared for what the journey entails?” He was silent for a moment before he continued. “There is no promise either of us will make it back.”

“I have faced death before,” John proclaimed. “If I must, I’ll face Arathius Himself, if it means the world can carry on- with, or without me.” 

Smitty turned his whole body towards John, shoulders slumped yet his wings extending in valor. “Odd indeed, but most certainly courageous.” Smitty’s wings fluttered, though for what, John wasn’t sure. “When shall we depart?”

“As soon as possible,” He declared, standing to his feet. “We have no time to waste.”

Smitty followed and stood as well, smoothing down his gowns. “In the morning of the morrow, then,” The fairy smiled. It looked better on him than tears, John decided. “You’ll need as much rest as you can acquire for the journey ahead.”

“And what of a plan?” John questioned.

Smitty looked beyond the cliff. Soon, the sun would rise, and they would be gone before midday. “We’ll conquer that when we get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it feels like this story is progressing really fast- dont worry, i feel it too but im cool with it lmaO i'd love to hear what yall think of it, and i know that theres a lot to be explained and that the storys just starting, but its gonna get better !!!!!!! i literally have SO MUCH PLANNED yall aint READY for whats gonna go down here in this fic !!!!!!!! thank you all very much for reading !!!!!!!!!!!!


	3. Adventure Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Adventure Begins" by Gothic Storm [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PLcCcxp3Hs).
> 
> Additional track: "[Knights and Lords](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZVx_1My7Z6o)" by Audiomachine

John hadn’t truly felt grounded until he watched the pair of moose emerge from the forest at Smitty’s beckoning, sturdy and willing. Feelings of dread and doubt came crashing down upon him all at once, and he found himself stuck to the spot in which he stood, clutching the pack the fairy had given to him until his knuckles went white. Before he could reconsider his plans, Smitty hauled a saddle onto one of the creature’s backs, turning to John with a solemn look before working to tighten the saddle’s straps. 

“Are you quite ready, John?” He forced himself to place one foot before the other, giving a nod in return, whether or not Smitty could see it. He feared that, if he spoke, his doubt would bleed through his tone. 

The fairy, however, took notice after all, and tightened the final strap upon the saddle before placing his hands on his hips. “You know, John…” He stood before the deity, swallowing in his throat. “...you can always turn back if you’re not sure. You have every reason to.”

His eyes met the ground, shaking his head. “No- I can’t, not with Erestia depending on it. I’ve made my decision.” Their eyes met, and John, despite their situation, noticed how they’d gone back to their deep brown. He furrowed his brow at the sight. “Why do your eyes change color like that?”

“Like what?”

“They were a blue shade just yesternight.” 

Smitty gave him a bewildered look before his brows shot up in realization. “Oh! Yes, pardon me, I forgot about that. I guess it just became all too natural for me over time.” The deity cleared his throat. “Well, it’s a bit hard to explain, I suppose...consider- consider the firefly!” 

“The...firefly?”

“Yes! The firefly!” Smitty’s hands moved about as he spoke, and John watched him with great interest. “You see, when night falls, it’s a bit like a natural occurrence that my being will shift into a sort of “night-mode,” as I’ve come to call it, and my eyes will shift colors as my wings begin to illuminate! Well, I guess fireflies have a choice in the matter, but that matters not!” Smitty’s wings fluttered, though now more of a quiver as they stretched. “I’m not sure why it happens. I’ve concluded, over my years, that it serves as a light in the dark not only for myself, but also for the creatures of my forest! I had once been able to contract my wings back into my body, as well as hide the shifting of my eyes, but as I am not as strong as I had been two decades ago, I can’t even spare enough magic to do so without growing weak and- oh, for Velios, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Smitty quickly ducked his head and went to throw a saddle over the other moose, but John was quick to follow for his defense. “It’s quite alright, I take great interest in it! The knowledge of your power has left me intrigued!” The fairy’s brows raised in response. “However, I hadn’t realized you were so low on magic?”

Smitty gave a sigh and a nod, tightening the saddle’s straps as he’d done before. “I’m afraid so. I fear my magic won’t be of much use during this journey with how little I have left. We’ll have to rely on our own abilities-” The fairy suddenly stopped, his expression turning to one of consideration, before he walked straight past John and towards the cottage. “Stay there, I forgot something.”

John furrowed his brow as he turned to watch him disappear into the house, his gowns bellowing behind him. Before the door shut, however, Smitty stuck his head out, hands gripping the doorway. “Strap our things to those saddles, would you?” He called, closing the door behind him.

He stood there just a moment longer before he turned and set himself to work, tying numerous bags of food and supplies to the saddles. There was enough food to last two weeks between them, Smitty had told him, but even still, finding dinner within a forest wasn’t too hard when you knew where to look- in which, the fairy swore he’d teach John his ways of foraging, as he’d need it for the journey ahead.

He had just finished tying the deity’s small bag of things to his saddle when said deity left his cottage, now dressed in clothes like that of a rider. The tight, leather pants bore sturdy boots and a few belts around his waist, with a fitted yet versatile cotton shirt to match. As Smitty walked past him, John looked to the fairy’s back to see thin slits where his wings could easily emerge, just barely touching them. 

What was odd, however, was the sheathed sword he held in his hand. Smitty dropped another bag by his moose and extended the sword to him albeit with hesitance, his brow furrowed and his deathly grip around the weapon shaking. John was hesitant even more so to accept it; it didn’t seem like the fairy was quite willing to give it away so freely.

“Take it. You’ll need it.”

“I...don’t know how to swordfight.” He responded, running a hand through his hair. “I’m really chopped liver when it comes to swords.”

“Do you assume I’m not the same? These things get in the way of everything.” Smitty fluttered his wings for emphasis, turning to strap the last bag to his moose. “They can shield from a sword, but Velios forbid they’ll grant me enough space to use one.”

John huffed in humor and slowly pulled the sword from its sheath, though not unsheathing it completely. The weapon was bulky in size yet light in the hand, and its blade had light, whipsy markings engraved into it. The markings could have easily been mistaken for an Elvish design from afar, but taking a closer look, the blade bore ancient Valian designs. He couldn’t tell the sword’s age, but even as pristine and sturdy as it seemed, a design such as that wasn’t anything of their modern age. 

“This sword is ancient,” He spoke aloud, letting the sword drop back into its case and working on strapping the sheath to his belt. “Why do you own a sword if you’re unable to use it, might I ask?”

Smitty hauled himself onto his saddle and paused, hands gripping the reins. When he only moved to check the contents of his luggage, John knew he wouldn’t be getting a response.

Some things, he concluded, weren’t meant to be learned.

~#~

Even if the Regal Staff of Vale was forged from the toughest ores and jewels in their land, Bordia was sure that if her father kept beating it against the ground in rage as he currently was, it would shatter in moments.

She could only stand beside the throne, clutching the sword at her hip as she watched Wilfor wreck havoc upon his own royal hall. Her four siblings, in all their vile bitterness, were lined down the steps leading to the throne in their born order on the side opposite to her. They stood unfazed, though looking at the youngest of her siblings- Prince Vespian, only fifteen years of age though nearly as blood-driven as his father- held a look of great worry and confusion. And it wasn’t just him that stood awkwardly in an agitated unease; all about the room, guards and knights stood by in silence as their king had his tantrum, beating the walls and floors with a royally ancient heirloom.

Next to her, the knighted Lady Anna stood- perhaps a little too closely to Bordia than expected of her- with a clenched jaw and a grip around her sword even tighter than that of the princess. Even the highest knight in the land couldn’t find the words nor the courage to control her king, for they all feared the poison of his wrath. And, although a situation like their current one was rare, they all knew better than to intervene.

What she hadn’t seen before, however, was her father reaching for an innocent guard, and slamming the staff heavily down upon his head. A strike of fear veiled the room as the king only continued to beat the guard into the ground in his own bout of anger, deafened to his cries and pleas of mercy. Bordia had never spoken to that guard, but from the looks of it, he couldn’t have been a day over twenty. And, as he soon lay lifeless upon the stone with Wilfor looming over his corpse, she briefly reconsidered whether she should have stepped in. Now, all she could do was give a silent prayer to Velios for the loss of a soul, and another to Arathian in hopes of a good passing to the afterlife.

The king let the bloodied staff fall heavily upon the stone next to the corpse, his chest puffing from the lack of breath. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder towards his throne. “Where has that foul pest escaped to?”

Bordia swallowed in her throat before she replied. “My men lost sight of Keyes somewhere within the Greenwood forest, Your Majesty. However, one said to have caught sight of him with the fairy that lives there.”

Her hand wrapped even tighter around her sword, prepared for her father to lash out once more. However, the king only pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing with a clenched jaw. Even with her father coming down from his fit, her muscles refused to loosen- and next to her, she could tell Anna felt the same. 

Wilfor made his way back to the throne, resting his head upon his fist with his eyes closed in irritation. “Send Rogue. Pay him whatever he asks. I want that rat’s head brought back on a spike- but I want that fairy brought back alive.” Bordia looked at him with her brow burrowed, not in the slightest sure how he expected a single assassin- even one as skilled as Rogue- to capture a _fairy_. “He’s weak, but he has power in him yet. He’ll be of great use to me.”

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” The second eldest child- Bordia’s successor if her death were to come early- interrupted, and she felt her blood boil. Even the lowliest of peasants knew Amaria was Wilfor’s favorite child, and were it not for Bordia’s skill and their late mother’s wishes, she would be the crown princess. But even she- _second in line to the throne_ \- lounged around in lavish gowns all day, gossipping instead of working like his other four children to earn Wilfor’s trust and gratitude. For some reason none of them could explain, he gave that willingly to Amaria, and Bordia _despised_ her for it. It was truly a pity that the smartest way she could think of to assassinate Bordia was to poison her drink. She wasn’t sure Amaria was intelligent enough to think of anything better. 

Next to her, Bordia felt, almost immediately, Anna brush her hand against her own. As always, they both felt the same.

“Is this not a job for the sorcerer Radielle? Surely one assassin can’t handle a fairy on his own!” Her voice, though with a sultry undertone, was far more innocent than she truly was. Perhaps that was how she came to be in their father’s favor. 

“That damned sorcerer doesn’t need any more power than he deserves.” It was, perhaps, a shared hatred of Radielle all across their bloodline. Bordia too held a dislike for him, though not as passionate as her father’s. He didn’t stand in her way- Radielle was just rude. “I never should have struck that deal with that witch in the first place, giving him all that magic just for doing the work my incompetent servants are incapable of…” 

Wilfor went off on another one of his rants, and Bordia was quick to pay no mind, leaving it behind as nothing but static. Her focus, instead, turned to Anna, as it always did. And as Anna faced her in return, they both knew- this mission would be a painful one.

~#~

“Have you thought of a plan, yet?” 

Night had fallen, and they sat before a fire while the moose grazed beyond the clearing. Across the fire, Smitty sat with his legs folded beneath him, his wings illuminated in the dark. John found himself admiring how the flames reflected off of them, dancing about as if the wings themselves were made of glass. Smitty had said they could “shield from swords;” John wondered how tough they truly were for something that seemed so fragile.

“Well, we’re headed north into Wrenomya, and we should cross that border within two days at the pace we’re taking now. From there, we’ll have two options, and neither is better than the other, really.” Smitty answered, poking at the fire with a stick.

“Why’s that?” He inquired.

“They both mean certain...and unavoidable death.” Smitty informed him, his brow furrowed as he looked into the fire. He threw his stick somewhere beyond the trees and pulled his knees to his chest. “Either we can try and sneak through Brundirth and surely be slaughtered by dwarves, or we can try to make it through Arathian’s Pass and perish within seconds. Brundirth makes up the small strip of land on the Erestian map that separates the north from the rest of the world, so there’s no way around it.”

“What if we go by boat? Sail around it?”

“Not a chance. Even if we had a ship, I’m sure neither of us would know how to sail, and dwarvish pirates would seize it if the merfolk don’t get us first.” John huffed irritably, taking his turn to poke and prod at the fire. He couldn’t tell which way was worse; he assumed most would say Arathian’s Pass, but from what he’d heard, at least that death was quick. It didn’t really brighten their chances of making it to the Fane, however. 

“As I said before…” John met Smitty’s eye, and the fairy gave him a concerned look. “...we can turn back at any time. This doesn’t have to be your war to fight.”

“No.” His response was immediate, and in his own ear, more certain than he truly was. “I’ve made my decision. There are too many lives at risk. If someone has to fight, it ought to be me.” 

Smitty only gazed at him for a moment longer, his expression holding something John couldn’t recognize, before he gave a worn sigh and a nod. Behind him, his wings stretched and fluttered gently until they rested once more. “I think it’s time we rest. That arrow wound is still healing, and we have another long day of travelling, tomorrow-”

Wordlessly, the fairy shot to his feet, his wings sprouting open in alarm. John’s chest fell as he reached for his sword, standing after him. Smitty was silent, but his posture held that of a frightened deer. “What? What’s wrong?” John looked past the trees, trying to find any sense of danger. 

Smitty cocked his head, listening, before his eyes grew wider than they already were. “Draw your sword.”

“What?”

“I said, _draw your sword_ -!” 

Before he’d even been able to register his command, a figure sprung from high in the trees like a shadow casting overhead, and Smitty was quick to draw vines from within the soil beneath them. They missed their target, and the assailant, dressed in black, landed before them, bearing a large, double-edged sword that swung directly towards John. 

He moved to draw his sword to block the attack, but Smitty had already curled his vines around the man, bringing him down to his knees with his hands pinned behind his back. The sword was chucked away, and Smitty was left panting from overexertion, while John stood in stunned silence.

Had Smitty not been on the defensive even before the attack, John would have been slaughtered- and he was unable to draw the sword he couldn’t even use.

The masked man before them was decorated with more weapons than a soldier of the king’s army, with knives stuffed into every crevice of his black, tight-fitted clothing. Smitty used one of his vines to push away the hood that adorned his head to reveal hair even darker than his garments, and eyes narrowly glaring in their direction. Obviously, he was extremely upset his plan hadn’t worked out in his favor.

Long moments of silence passed between them; it was as if the forest had silenced itself as well, just as stunned as they were. When Smitty finally spoke to the assailant, his tone was deep and bold, but not quite certain. 

“What business do you have?” Smitty demanded, fists clenched at his sides. John drew his sword, albeit looking at those vines, he doubted he’d need it. However, when a vine wrapped around the stranger’s neck and tightened seemingly much more than comfortable, John could only turn to Smitty with concern.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his breath filling his words. The fairy didn’t respond and only pressed further.

“Speak now, or _never speak again_.” Something in his chest grew tight upon hearing those words come from Smitty’s mouth; looking at him, what he’d seen before as soft and elegant was now aflame with resentment, his face bearing nothing but raw anger. He’d wondered previously how far the wrath of this fairy went, and now, he got one step closer to an answer.

“I was sent by the king to bring the fairy Smitius back in chains-” The assailant looked to John and nodded his head solemnly in a gesture. “-and to bring his head before the throne on a pike.”

John swallowed, and he watched Smitty’s jaw clench before he loosened the vine around the man’s neck. The others, however, held their deathly grip around his limbs.

“What is your name?” Smitty inclined, irritation practically dripping from his tone.

“I am Rogue, Master of Assassins and Servant of Erestia.” The assassin sat with a blank expression and a monotone response, but John could practically see his knees shaking where they were pinned to the ground.

Smitty straightened his back and placed one foot before the other. “Your _birth_ name.”

The assassin hesitated, clenching his jaw before he responded coldly: “Jay.”

A silence shrouded the clearing once more, no one quite sure what to say. It seemed odd to introduce themselves to the man who just tried to kill them, and it’d be odd even more so to have a chat about how the weather was treating them so well that evening or to offer him some of their meal for the road. Looking to Smitty, he saw the initial anger start to fade away, but the both of them were still left on edge.

When the assassin spoke to fill the void, his voice was still low, though holding an ounce of strange interest. “So...Brundirth?” John narrowed his brow at Jay, and Smitty’s wings gave a bewildered flutter. “What’s got you so desperate to try and make it through there?” When neither of them responded to his odd comment, the assassin only continued to talk. “I myself have never actually tried to make it past- although I’m sure I’d be able- but I do have a bit of knowledge that could help.”

“Why should we trust you?” Smitty interrupted. “Why do you even offer your advice?”

“Well, I can only assume that you’re about to kill me as I had nearly done to your friend here, and if I am to die, my final words may as well be those of wisdom.”

“Why should we _trust you_?” Smitty repeated once more. Jay paused before he gave a sigh, attempting to reposition himself within the vines, but to no avail.

“With a life lived as long as yours, Great Smitius, you would be the first I’d expect to know that an assassin’s words speak nothing but truth. What do you take me for, a spy?” Smitty huffed at that, but John found no humor in it. He found it difficult in that moment to feel anything other than alarm.

“Speak.” Smitty commanded, raising his chin.

Jay clenched his jaw. “Now, I’ll tell you, but only if you release me from these vines.” John didn’t have to look at Smitty to know that anger was boiling within him again. “And fret not- you may take the weapons I carry if it makes you feel safer. I have no intention of hurting either of you, now.”

Smitty used the vines to bring Jay’s sword to his hand, and as he approached the assailant, he brandished the weapon before setting the blade gently down upon the man’s shoulder. John watched with narrowed eyes, curious.

“Swear upon Velios, God of Life and Sovereign of Erestia, that both your words and intentions of a resolute peace are true.” Smitty began, the sharp blade dangerously close to Jay’s neck. The man on the wrong end of the sword could only swallow in his throat. “Swear to him that, when I release you from your bindings, you will take a seat around our fire and remain there until I see fit.”

Jay gazed up at the fairy with wide eyes, and then aimed them upwards towards the night sky, bound hands clenching behind his back. “Velios- Holy Lord, God among Gods-” He let out a quivered breath. John watched Smitty’s hand readjust around the sword, seemingly just as anxious as the man begging for salvation. “-I swear upon your heavenly name to do no harm, and to preserve the peace in the presence of the holiest of your children. I will keep company by the Great Smitius’ fire; my tongue will speak nothing but truth, and my intentions will be nothing but earnest.”

The forest once again fell deathly silent, until only the sound of the vines slowly unravelling and the crackling of the fire filled the air. John huffed as he watched Smitty step out of the way, still bearing the double-edged sword, and extend his hand towards the fire, in which the assassin was quick to oblige. 

He looked to Smitty, breathless and bewildered. “I don’t understand,” He began. “Is his word truly enough? What if he’s lying?”

Smitty sat back down upon the ground, folding his legs beneath him as his entire body visibly slouched in exhaustion. “He swore to his word before a fairy. Had he been dishonest, he’d be a pile of ash.” He gestured to the log John had been sitting upon just before the whole debacle. “Have a seat, John.”

He gave one final glance to Jay before sheathing his sword and taking his seat. Smitty laid Jay’s sword over his lap, his fingers running curiously across the handle in the middle. With a design that sleek and blades that sharp, John reckoned, it was most certainly built for killing. 

Jay shifted anxiously in his spot before he spoke. “I suppose, if you’re trying to make it to the Fane, you already know that there’s no easy way through or around Brundirth?” Smitty gave the assassin a hard look, and he licked his chapped lips before continuing. “Well, how about this-...have either of you heard the tale of Sir Eric?”

“Eric the Knighted,” John inclined. “Tamer of Dragons, Slayer of Beasts. We’ve all heard the tale.” Smitty gave them an odd look, bewildered, and Jay took his chance to enlighten him.

“Well, it’s not quite old enough to be a tale per se, but about two decades ago- right before he was banished from Vale- he and his dragon became the only beings in history to ever make it through Arathian’s Pass and come out on the other side breathing.” Smitty narrowed his eyes, and Jay held his hands up in defense. Before, the assassin had barely raised a brow in their presence- now, he shook beneath the gaze of Smitius. “Now, before we jump to conclusions- no one has any idea how Sir Eric made it through the Pass. However…” Jay swallowed. “...I know where you can find him.”

“How do you know where he is?” John inclined. “Have you met him?”

“No, sadly,” Jay turned to face him. “But I’ve met the Elven King.”

John was left in awe, but still continued in his questioning. “Why would the Elven King know the whereabouts of Sir Eric?”

“I’m not quite sure, actually.” Jay looked up at the stars, recalling a memory. “Well...this was about two years ago, I suppose, and I was currently employed by the King of Grentor, Ruler of Giants.” Dear Velios, had this man crossed every rock in Erestia? “I had been hired by him to serve as his personal guard, even for a peace meeting with the elves. Well, long story short, the King of Giants was attempting to tame dragons of the north in his kingdom and was looking for assistance from someone with a dragon’s tongue- specifically Sir Eric- and the Elven King Fitz told him that Sir Eric was somewhere in _Wrenomya_ , in which the Giants would be unable to reach due to their current unrest with both the merfolk and the dwarves.” 

“I’ll have to stop you there.” Smitty spoke, stabbing the blade through the soil and leaning forward in interest. “So your plan for us is, we travel to Wrenomya, search helplessly until we find this Sir Eric of yours, and persuade him to lead us through the worst possible route we can take?” 

“That’d be the plan, yes.” Jay answered nonchalantly. “Do either of you have any other ideas?”

John sighed, running his hands through his hair. He recalled Arathius, the beast that lie in the pit of the Pass, the monster parents told their children about. He then recalled Sir Eric- young, gallant and forthright with the dragon’s tongue, a gift said to be from the Wisdom Goddess Hespa Herself. Despite his banishment (banished for what reason, however, no one knew but Wilfor), John had grown up envying and admiring him, sneaking down into his father’s library every night just to read the tale. 

When John lost that tale to Wilfor’s fire, he felt as if he’d lost yet another piece of himself.

“Why do you tell us all of this even still?” Smitty spoke, pulling the sword from the ground and resting it upon his lap once again. “I have no desire to kill you, nor to punish you in the slightest, despite the... _odd_ series of events that have taken place this evening.”

Jay wrung his hands together in his lap, eyes transfixed on the fire before him. A minute must have passed before he replied. “I’m probably going to die soon, whether it’s at your hand, or Wilfor’s, or anyone else’s who has something out for me. Because of this, I may as well leave doing good for others- even if that only means sharing my knowledge.” A feeling of raw pity struck John like a serpent, unfleeting. Jay swallowed and continued. “I’ve been trying to get out of this life ever since I was forced in. Tonight’s as good as any to make my escape from it- but without Wilfor’s word to the Merfolkian Queens, there’s no possible way to sail to safety in the north, so…” Jay nodded to himself, as if accepting his fate. “...I’m trapped here.”

John turned his head to Smitty only to find him staring back. Smitty was silent, but the look in his eye held a thousand words- and, somehow, they were both thinking the same exact thing. John knew what he must do, or at least, what he _should do_ , but after the events that had taken place that evening, his stomach twisted just at the thought of letting Jay come along. However, no measly, sick feeling within him would keep him from doing what was right. It didn’t stop him before.

“Well…” John rubbed his wrist, turning his eyes to Jay. “Why don’t you come with us?” Jay’s eyes went wide, his entire body seized by John’s words. “I mean...Smitty and I are both being hunted by Wilfor, it seems- Smitty for what reason, I’m not entirely sure- so if you wish to pursue a different life, perhaps- perhaps this would be a fresh start.” 

Jay’s eyes grew wet as he looked back and forth between them. “I-I don’t understand. I was just sent to take your lives, and now you offer me a new path?” Smitty only nodded in reply. 

Without warning, Jay stood from the ground and walked around the fire to keel by Smitty’s feet, his face soaking with soundless tears. The fairy stood before him, and extending an arm to John, he gave a silent beckoning.

John came to stand by his side before Jay, and barely registered the movement when Smitty unsheathed the sword from his own belt. Jay’s fate was unclear until Smitty rested the blade down gently upon his shoulder as he’d done before, holding Jay’s sword in his other hand.

“In the name of Velios, I, the Greenwood Fairy Smitius, Son of Mariava and Grandson of Fraysia, hereby strip you of your title, and pardon you of your past wrongdoings.” He placed the blade upon Jay’s opposite shoulder. “In the name of your Gods, of your planet, and of your kingdom, I hereby recruit thee into the Company of the Fane’s Pursuit.” He let the sword fall to his side, and taking a step back, he gave one final command: “Rise.”

Their evening ended when Smitty returned Jay’s sword to its rightful owner and put out the fire to send them to bed. That night, John thought of nothing but the speech Smitty had given to recruit Jay into their odd little journey, and just what it all meant. They now had a title for their group (whether he’d made it up on the spot, John wasn’t sure) and Jay was, he assumed, officially pardoned in the eyes of the Gods. All should have been well. He told himself it was.

_I, the Greenwood Fairy Smitius, Son of Mariava and Grandson of Fraysia._

He could only assume Mariava was Smitty’s late mother, though he knew nothing else of her. Fraysia, however- well, he’d been taught of her ever since he learned to listen.

Fraysia, Empress of Erestia, Wife of Velios, Ruler of Gods, Goddess of Beauty and Love. Smitty was the grandson of perhaps one of the most powerful and persuasive Gods in the heavens- and for this, he couldn’t even begin to guess how powerful Smitty was, himself.

None of it mattered, he told himself. That was in Smitty’s past, and he had no business dwelling in it. In that moment, he needed only to focus on sleep- and although it didn’t come easy, he soon drifted off into a nightmare as he’d done the night before, and as he was sure he’d experience in the nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of stuff in this chapter!! bordie! jay! mentions of fitz! but theres also a lot of lore in this chapter, and for that im sorry, but yall are confused about any of it, dont be afraid to ask! also, you'll see that this chapter has an additional track- in which most chapters will probably have one as well- but its really just there either because it goes with the chapter or just because i want to share all my orchestra music with yall. in any case, yall should go listen to it!!!
> 
> it also came to my attention that i should probably give yall my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bubbledaryll) if you want/need to contact me!! once again, thank you all for reading, and feedback is greatly appreciated!!


	4. The Price of Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "The Price of Honor" by Colossal Trailer Music [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhwMFFQD3b4).
> 
> Additional Track: "[Sorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VP-r-4wvnjk%22)" by Evgeny Emelyanov

The first thing John saw upon awakening was Smitty, legs folded beneath him with a young doe at his side. Jay was awake across the dead fire, running a cloth over an end of his dirtied blade with slight vigor. He guessed Jay hadn’t been too happy when Smitty drove his sword into the ground. 

The events that had taken place the night before hit him like a wave, practically making his head spin as he relived the dread he’d felt the moment Jay striked. He recalled Smitty’s odd recruitment speech to their newfound “Company of the Fane’s Pursuit” and the personal details he’d gathered from it, but he was quick to dismiss those thoughts. He then remembered what had happened after, as they sat around the fire explaining the current perils of Erestia to Jay in long and depressive detail. John could tell that Jay had been even more willing to join them afterwards with that gallant look in his eye. In an odd way, the sight of that had given John a bit more courage, as well.

He groaned at the numerous pops in his back as he sat up, catching the doe’s attention but not scaring her away. Smitty only continued to run his hand along the doe’s fur, his eyes finding John’s. “Your body must be aching from sleeping on the ground. We’ll have to find some way to fix that.”

He pulled his knees to his chest and ran a hand through his hair. Dear Velios, he needed to bathe. He wasn’t sure how many days had gone by since his last one, but he smelled like a pig stye, and he wasn’t sure he could take it for much longer. It would probably be like this for the remained of the journey, he reminded himself. He scolded himself for not thinking of the complications beforehand.

“I’ll live,” He replied, despite the horrendous pain coming from his back. “I’ve slept on worse surfaces.” His statement was true. The cold stone of the streets were relentless and unforgiving. He’d take the forest floor over that any day.

“So,” He turned to Jay as the man set the rag off to the side, leaning forward with his sword still laying across his lap. “Do you mind running us through your plan, again? Last night was…” He shook his head, swallowing. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled seeing Jay’s figure leap from the trees, his sword like an arrow as he made his entrance. Even if they had all mutually agreed to move past it, it still made him a bit weak at the stomach. “...a blur, to say the least.”

Jay shifted where he sat, leaning inward with elbows on his thighs. “We ride to north to Wrenomya. Through a forest as thick as this, we’ll have to keep to a moderate pace- and if our situations are kind, we’ll cross the border in about two days time.” John looked to Smitty, but the fairy only gave him a solemn look. He hadn’t realized the border was that far, even after they’d rode an entire day already. “Once we get there, our best bet is to search town to town in an effort to locate Sir Eric.”

“And what if we don’t find him?” John inquired. “What do we do, then?” 

Jay gave a heavy sigh, his shoulders seemingly falling at the thought. “We’ll have to choose our path and go it alone without his aid.”

“And if we do find him, who’s to say he’ll actually agree to come with us?” Smitty questioned. Somehow, that point had escaped John entirely. The whole ordeal was seeming less and less possible the more they spoke about it. He wondered if it was even worth the trouble- especially with the king on their trail. It could all just be a waste of time. “I can’t imagine that, if he’s made it through the pass, he’d want to go again.”

Jay thought for a moment before straightening his back. “Well...from what I know of Sir Eric- and from what I’m sure John knows of him, as well-” John snapped his attention back to him at the sound of his name.”-he’s always been one to do what’s right. If we inform him of Erestia’s current peril, perhaps it will persuade him to act, especially with all that’s at stake. But yes, there of course is a rather high chance he’ll decline.” 

There really wasn’t much going for them, John supposed. Their entire plan was built on the hope of success to lead to the next stage, which was only made worse by their slim chances of anything actually succeeding at all. Even yet, their final task was to bargain with the Gods themselves- unmovable objects that could strike him dead with the flick of their wrists. The more he considered their chances, the more helpless he felt- and Smitty, moving to sit by his side, seemed to take notice.

Smitty spoke in a low voice, so quiet as for Jay not to hear, but a gentle one, nonetheless. “As I stated before...If you wish to turn back, you will always have my blessing.” John turned to face him, brow furrowed. “I can even offer you residence in my home until I return.”

Those were the words of the man he’d first met, not the wrathful fairy he’d encountered just the night before. This side of Smitty was caring and gentle, watching over him even if they only knew the slightest and most vague things about each other and their pasts. This side of Smitty was understanding- enough so, that he would allow John to turn on his own journey. However, even as he offered his sympathy and his home to John, he knew that, even if he may not have been a fairy or an assassin, he was still apart of the company- and he’d sworn to fight until his last breath, if it came to it.

With that thought in mind, he shook his head in reply, his eyes focused on the ground with nowhere else to look. “I couldn’t, not with all that’s at stake. You know this.” He forced his eye to meet Smitty’s, but the slight smile that traced his lips was done unconsciously. “I must thank you for your hospitality and kindness, however. There are few people as gracious as you, and for that, I feel blessed.”

Smitty’s cheeks quickly flushed red, his mouth curving into a sheepish grin as he looked to the ground. Oddly enough, John found himself smiling even more so at the sight. “You’re far too kind, John. I haven’t met many mortal men in your age, but…” Smitty looked to him briefly before turning his eyes away once more. “...I’m sure of my words when I say that there few as gallant as you, if it means anything.”

“It means a lot, especially coming from a fairy.” He swallowed, bringing his knees even closer to his chest. “Thank you.”

Smitty eyed him, then, and they shared a long look before the fairy spoke, reciting what he’d proclaimed just a couple nights prior. “Odd indeed, and most certainly courageous…” Smitty bit his lip, withholding his grin as he shook his head to himself in thought. “...but above all, a good man.”

John felt something, then. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it blossomed in his chest and spread through his body like a pleasant virus, filling him with a flood of warm and indescribable emotions. He blamed it on the rush of being praised after so long, but as they packed their things and set off, he couldn’t help but wonder if it meant something more.

~#~

“Princess?”

Bordia spun from her place at the window, hand still fiddling with the glove she was sliding upon the other. Anna stood in the doorway, decked in her silver armor- the armor she wore to battle. Just seeing it brought a sick feeling to Bordia’s stomach as she thought of the journey ahead, and the possibility that her father had ordered Anna to follow.

Bordia quickly raced to the doorway before pulling Anna into her chambers, glancing quickly down the empty halls before returning to face the knight. She grabbed Anna gently by the shoulders, bringing their bodies close. In a low voice, she inquired to her: “What are you doing in this armor, Anna? You know I must face this alone. I can’t risk your life for this mission.”

“I’d like to know where you’re going, and why it’s so dangerous that you can’t even bring the highest knight in Vale along with you.” Anna brought herself even closer, and their chestplates bumped together softly. “Where is Wilfor sending you, my dove?”

Bordia’s eyes quickly flew to the doorway to check for guests before sliding her hands down Anna’s arms and taking her hands in her own. Their eyes met, and their gaze refused to falter. “Rogue hasn’t returned from his mission in two days. My father says he’s probably been defeated by the fairy, but…” She shook her head. “...I suspect he may have double-crossed us. You saw how he looked when my father told him of his mission; pale as his shirt, shaking where he stood. Not to mention all the other kingdoms he’s served- I wouldn’t doubt his desertion for a second.”

Anna’s brows furrowed into a look of worry and bewilderment, searching for answers. “Did you tell of your suspicions to the king?”

She shook her head in reply, glancing at their boots briefly before meeting Anna’s eye once more. “In either case, my father has ordered our best squadron to find Rogue, and I have been tasked with leading them.” She swallowed, shifting where she stood. Her hands squeezed gently around Anna’s. “I’ll be faced with the task of capturing a fairy. And, if that fairy did manage to defeat Rogue, I don’t even want to imagine him defeating you.”

Anna’s face fell. 

“I requested to my father that you remain here while I’m gone.”

Anna’s eyes grew wet, and she averted her eyes before wrapping her arms around Bordia and hiding her face in the crook of her neck. Bordia didn’t hesitate to reciprocate the embrace, letting her lips press into the side of the knight’s head as she refrained from weeping. They must have stood there for quite a while, she assumed, for neither of them could be sure if this embrace would be their last.

When Anna finally pulled away, her eyes were stained red, and her entire body quivered beneath her armor. Silent moments fleeted before she spoke again, her voice breaking as she went. “I don’t care what happens when you find them, my dove- if all goes south, you _run_. Even if this mission costs you a squadron, I’d be damned if it costed you, as well.”

Bordia’s hand found Anna’s cheek, and, leaning their foreheads against one another, she closed her eyes. “My dearest, I fight for no one but you, my father and my kingdom. I’d give my soul if it meant I would return to you.” 

Anna kissed her, then, as she’d done many times before. Suddenly, Bordia forgot the doorway and the possibility of them being discovered, and instead immersed herself in the feeling of Anna’s lips upon her own. She wasn’t sure they’d ever pulled each other so close than they did in that moment, and she drowned herself in the feeling of it.

“I truly hate to interrupt,” They both pulled away as soon as the voice sounded, and Bordia was met with the sorcerer Radielle standing there in the doorway, draped in all of his rouge robes trimmed at the edges and the seams with gold. And, although his face was veiled in a cloth of a similar shade, she could tell he was smirking at what he’d witnessed. Her lungs began to tighten just at the thought of it. “but the Lady Anna has been summoned to the throne. His Royal Majesty King Wilfor wishes to speak to her of keeping guard of the castle in Her Highness’ absence.”

Anna looked at Bordia with eyes soaking once again in tears, and she gave her mistress the same look of terror. When Anna only made her exit, making sure not to brush against Radielle in the slightest, Bordia felt as if she would faint with the worry building within her. The worst of it, however, was how Radielle only stood there in the doorway, silent as he stared at her with an expression she couldn’t possibly guess. 

There was no point in begging him for his silence. Whether he told anyone or not, she would have no reason to give why he shouldn’t; Bordia was allowed no feelings of romantic or sexual interest towards any other living being, as her soul purpose was to take the glory that was rightfully hers in her father’s name, and Wilfor would have no one standing in her way. She had let herself slip when she first fell for Anna- her closest friend and the highest knight in the land- and she had remained there for far too long.

If Radielle told her father, Bordia knew she would deserve her punishment for defying his word, whatever it may be; he could choose to strip her of her title and hand the coming crown to Amaria, or lock her away until her final day. Her fate was unknown, but the punishment for Anna was clear as day.

Wilfor would have Anna’s head, and for that, he would have Bordia’s only bit of happiness, as well.

~#~

Two days, they travelled, and for two days, it poured.

It must have been around noon on the second day since departing with Jay, and even as the rain had ceased its onslaught, John was still left shivering and miserable. Smitty had told him that he didn’t really mind the rain, but that it would most likely get a bit difficult for the moose carrying them. Jay, on the other hand, wasn’t bothered in the slightest; they’d given him a moose and some berries if he got peckish with an offer for more, but ever since they’d left, he’d been mostly silent following close behind, even when the thunder had boomed off in the distance with flashes of lightning to follow. It made him wonder just how terribly Jay had been conditioned to bad weather which, in turn, brought a sick feeling to his stomach.

Nightfall had been the worst of it, however. They’d huddled under a small overpass atop solid stone while the storm raged about through the dark, and no matter how many blankets and bags Smitty put beneath John, he was still _cold_. He was sure that the chill had sank into his bones and planted itself there, for he was still feeling its wrath the next day.

The moose were each decked in mud up their legs and seemed just as miserable as John, and yet, Smitty relayed their message that they would still power on, and at the very least, take them to Wrenomya- which, upon asking Jay, wasn’t too far, at that point. Jay also told them, however, that if they kept their current pace, they may have to set up another camp for the night before making their way across the northern border.

It must have been an hour later when Jay finally cut through the thick silence between the three of them. “We’d best make a stop for the moose. They’re thirsty, I’d reckon.” 

Smitty’s moose gave a low call in response, in which the fairy only nodded. “I can feel flowing water, somewhere off in the distance,” Smitty turned around briefly to glance at Jay. “is there a stream nearby, perchance?”

“Indeed there is,” Jay replied. “We’ll have to cross it briefly before we arrive in Wrenomya, but it’s weak and rather shallow, so have no worries over it.”

It was then that Smitty suddenly halted, deathly still, head cocked as his eyes transfixed on the wood ahead. This time, he didn’t have to warn John- he was already drawing his sword.

“Why have we stopped?” Jay questioned, and upon seeing the weapon in John’s hand, silently drew his own sword from where it had been strapped to the saddle. They both looked to Smitty, awaiting a report.

“Humans,” He said solemnly, his brows furrowing as his eyes tinged with slight panic. “a plethora of them. I can’t tell how many. They’re on their way.” He swallowed. “They’ve surrounded us.” 

Smitty looked between them, then, climbing down from the saddle. “Dismount, prepare yourselves. Jay-” Smitty looked the man dead in the eye, and John wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more grim look on the face of any living man. “-protect John with your life.”

Beside him, Jay’s body seized yet his head nodded fiercely in reply. When the man regained his senses, he slid from the saddle with John following close behind, and wasted no time in wrapping the moose around their huddled group. He could see the moose becoming more restless with each passing second, and he was sure they could feel that something wasn’t right- and yet, they stood guard.

John hated how utterly weak Smitty’s order made him feel. They all knew he didn’t have much to offer- John had laid that upon the table the same evening he and Smitty first met- but the feeling of uselessness only made his heart sink to his stomach. He knew Smitty only wanted to protect him (though exactly why so fiercely, he couldn’t be sure) but a nagging voice in the back of his mind practically screamed that the fairy only took to defending him because he _pitied_ John. 

It mattered not. The kingsmen had arrived. 

“They’re depleting-” Smitty suddenly said, his wings fluttering restlessly as he listened to the earth beneath him. “-they’re disappearing, one by one. I can’t feel their presence on the ground, anymore.”

“Feel for the trees.” From Jay, it was more a command than a request, and it didn’t take long to figure out what the man implied.

Wilfor had sent his archers- and (from the tales he’d been told), like eagles, they would cascade from the sky to strike their prey. Their suspicions were confirmed when Smitty turned and gave them another grim look, this one filled with even more terror than the last. Jay was quick to twirl his sword in his arms and take a defensive pose, his eyes scanning each and every corner of the murky, dense forest around them.

The moose were the first to have been struck by the flaming arrows- and even if they fled in pain, John was sure their fate had already been decided.

Almost immediately after the archers struck, Smitty spread his wings to deflect from another onslaught, and John could only watch with a clouded mind as they bounced right off again, some even snapping upon impact. Walls of vines arose from within the earth to deflect even more, while others reached into the trees and flung the archers there into oblivion.

The archers were quick, but Jay was quicker as he spun his sword to shield from the arrows while, if only for a split second, occasionally reaching to random crevasces and holsters along his body to draw daggers and chuck them towards the trees. And, one by one, John watched as they fell from the branches to land in the mud, basking their corpses in the remnants of the storms.

Behind him, he heard feet swiftly approaching, landing heavily in the mud- and as he turned around, he readied his sword just quick enough for the oncoming assailant. Without thinking, he drew the sword back before hurling it into the man’s chestplate, slicing through his torso as if it were water. 

For a moment, he and the man stood there in shock as the world stopped spinning, and as the body fell atop the earth as he hastily withdrew his sword, it only then occurred to John that he’d just killed a man.

When he finally looked up from the corpse, his eyes befell the plethora of bodies littering the forest floor around him, and reality began to crash down upon him once more. Further, his eyes reached into the forest, until they landed upon a single figure standing there. The rain began to fall again, and John saw that woman’s shining armor, as well as the dark hair cascading down the sides of it. He saw the sword she bore, thick and sharp, the handle fitted well into her gloved hand while her other grip was clasped around the reigns of a black horse. 

Her eyes bore furious anger, and her face was one of a woman bereft of all humanity. Her being was empty, and yet, John could see the sorrow within her soul as she mounted her horse and fled like a shadow.

When he finally turned away, the entire forest had stilled, and in the middle of the clearing was Jay upon his knees, holding Smitty in his arms. John was quick to fall to his side, bloodied sword abandoned in the mud as he loomed over the fairy. Smitty looked up at him, eyes hooded as his clothing was drenched in filth, yet there wasn’t a single drop of blood to have been spilt upon it.

“He’s exerted too much energy,” Jay informed him, pushing Smitty’s hair out of his eyes. “he’s extremely weak. He just- collapsed, I don’t…” The man shook his head in disbelief, and John swallowed anxiously in his throat, feeling an overwhelming flood of panic and terror building in his chest. 

“I…” Smitty’s voice was weak and broken, but with how intently they listened in that moment, it would have been hard not to hear. “...I need- rest.” Smitty looked to John before his eyes fell closed. “...just...for a while…” 

Jay adjusted Smitty in his arms as the fairy fell into a deep slumber, furrowing his brow before voicing his decision. “We need to carry on. The stream isn’t too far, even by foot…” Jay swallowed. “We’re going to have to haul him ourselves. If we stay here long enough with these bodies, the wolves will find us.” 

John looked back at the corpse he’d slain just a few minutes before, feeling what little was in his stomach begin to rise. Hastily, he stood, yet only made it a few meters before he vomited. It was only when his stomach was empty and his chest heaved nothing but air when he began to weep. Around him, the stench of filth and death infiltrated his lungs, and suddenly, he was unable to breathe as if he’d forgotten how. 

John had made a promise- they _all_ had- to save and defend their planet. Now, as he fell to his knees among a field of corpses, he began to question whether or not any of them had truly meant it. He felt it in his gut that justice for the oppressed and the fallen was right, yet the act he’d just committed was exactly what he was supposed to be fighting against. There was nothing right in his actions, he knew, and if the rest of their journey were to be the same, he wasn’t sure if he was the right person to venture it.

Jay helped him to his feet and John didn’t have the willpower to stop him, and wordlessly, they found what was left of their things upon the saddles of the fallen moose and strapped it to their bodies. Jay took the liberty of wiping down John’s sword before gathering his daggers from the lifeless soldiers that littered the forest with their spilt blood. John lifted Smitty’s front while Jay hauled his legs, and in his weak state, John wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such a pure, excruciating pain than in that moment.

That day, the whole of John’s world had been turned upside down, and he convinced himself that he could never make it right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall remember when bordie said she wanted some bordie/anna content? im here to deliver, a whole gotdamb month and a half later, so yall are welcome even though its super painful to write
> 
> but you know what MORE painful? putting literally EVERYONE ELSE in pain and now im gonna DIE because of it
> 
> still, i promise, stuff's gonna get a lot better next chapter. also do yall ever write really sad stuff on a normally happy day and then it just ruins your mood literally hours later because you got way into that sad, sad piece? yeah me too
> 
> anyway, thank you for the kudos and the feedback, i greatly appreciate it!! yall are so sweet!!!!!!


	5. Where the Hills Are Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Where the Hills Are Green" by Peter Roe [here](https://youtu.be/MG2f7_Y5PFg).

By the time Smitty awoke the next morning, they’d already made it to the stream, but Jay warned that they were still a day away on foot from Wrenomya. John kneeled by the banks, hand resting upon Smitty’s back between his wings as the fairy came to, feeling the need to weep out of joy, but he kept his eyes dry for as long as he was able. 

“How long was I asleep?” Although he may have awakened, his voice still sounded just as weak as it had before, and John suspected that the look of him may be deceiving. Just how weak was he, still, after so long of rest? And how much longer did he need to regain his energy?

“Half a day, my Great Fairy.” Jay replied from the edge of the bank, sharpening his sword in his lap as he faced the water. “The sun’s just only risen.” 

It was a nice change of scenery, he supposed. Even with all the troubles still weighing in on his chest, he couldn’t help but admire their surroundings; the first rays of morning light bled softly through the trees, dancing off the water and bringing warmth back to a rain-chilled forest. The birds began to sing once more, gleeful as the clear sky, and a mother doe had brought her fawns to drink just across the stream from them. The forest’s beauty rivalled even that of Smitty’s Greenwood.

After scrubbing their clothes with the last of their energy in the dead of night, they’d set up camp right there by the stream’s edge, laying Smitty down upon all their blankets and getting their much needed rest. Even still, risen before the sun- Jay out of instinct, and John out of a nightmare. But no matter how much he tried to wipe that poor man from his head, his face was still embedded into his mind, and his blood still stained John’s clothes. That man wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon, he knew.

For the rest of that morning, Jay offered to carry out the simple tasks of sorting their things, gathering berries for breakfast and sharpening their weapons, leaving John to sit helplessly by Smitty’s side. Jay had gone to forage after giving John a knowing look- knowing of what, he wasn’t sure- and had returned with a plethora of berries for them to share. But Smitty, never needing to drink or feed, only lay in silence, gazing at the tree above.

Jay then took up the task of caring for their weapons, and finished his sword before grabbing for John’s- just before Smitty grabbed the man’s wrist. “That sword does not need to be sharpened. Only cleaned.”

Jay gave him an odd look, and seeing the light stains of red still left on the grip of it made John’s stomach churn. “How long has it been since you sharpened it, good sir? This is among one of the sharpest blades I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.” Jay inclined.

“I’ve never let a single stone sharpen that blade. I enchanted it the moment it was passed to me.” Smitty spoke in a low tone, swallowing as he turned his eyes back to the trees above. John gave him an odd look. “If you are to clean it, use a gentle hand. That sword holds great meaning to me.”

Jay nodded wordlessly and wet a rag before he set to work, scrubbing with a firm get gentle hand in the crevasse where the blade met the grip. John sat himself down in full and crossed his legs, fiddling with a rock as his eyes strayed to the stream. For a minute or two, they all sat in a comfortable yet odd silence, before Smitty broke through it.

“Something is on your mind,” He inclined. Jay turned his head, but quickly averted his attention back to the sword after. He spoke to John, he assumed. Even still, he couldn’t find the right words to reply. “How many did you use that sword on?”

He went still, and his entire chest began to tighten as he swallowed. “One.”

Only a few seconds fleeted before Smitty slid his hand up to rest on John’s, clenching the rock together. He felt his chest loosen at the sight. “You were only defending yourself, John. I’m sure, in the eyes of Velios and Arathian, all is forgiven. Never forget what you fight for, and always remember that, as long as it looms over us, it will have been worth it.” 

John sniffed, his head falling. Smitty squeezed his hand a little tighter, and for a moment, Jay paused before he continued his work. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” John clenched his jaw before giving a tight, hesitant nod. He could still see her in his mind. He knew that face. The King’s Executioner. “What happened, John?” He shook his head, feeling his eyes grow wet beneath closed eyelids. “Take your time. You’ve been through a lot, these past few days.”

He sniffed and looked back up at the stream. The doe was crossing with her children, probably coming to greet Smitty (as all of the forest creatures did). She held her head high, and her confidence higher; she was a strong creature. Oddly enough, it gave John a sudden burst of confidence himself, and with it, a voice.

“She was there,” He swallowed. “Princess Bordia.”

Jay snapped his head towards him, brow furrowed. “How are you so sure?”

“She was one of the last faces I’d seen before being thrown into my cell, prior to my failed execution.” A shiver ran down his spine. Smitty, once again, squeezed his hand. It brought him more comfort than he’d first anticipated, or rather _should_ , but he wasn’t quite so sure he minded. “I don’t know how I’d ever forget.”

Jay turned his whole body towards them, setting the rag off to the side as he leaned in with interest. “Now that sounds like an interesting tale,” He spoke, his voice light. “how’d you manage to escape the princess, of all people? She’s the fiercest woman in all of Erestia, aside from the Dwarvish Queen herself.”

“Well, I escaped, but just barely.” He replied, swallowing. He looked off into the water as the deer came to them, the fawns immediately nuzzling up next to the fairy. “Of all the places a bird could have flown that night, it decided to land upon my cell’s windowsill...so, I shot a rock at it and prayed to Velios for forgiveness, and used one of its bones to pick the lock. After that…” He shook his head with a sigh, reaching up to pet the doe. Oddly enough, she sat down next to him. “...I ran, but they managed to cut me up anyway, and if Smitty hadn’t found me, I’d have been a dead man.”

Jay glanced between them, a smirk finding his lips as he sat back, propping himself up with his arms. “You’re both quite a wonder, aren’t you?” They both looked to him, but John couldn’t help but blush. “You say you’ve only known each other for four days, but you act as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.”

“Well,” Smitty replied, sitting up and back on his knees with a heavy groan. John narrowed his eyes at him. All three of them knew Smitty was too weak to even be sitting up on his own. “I’ve always felt like I was waiting on something my whole life, and now, with John, I think I’ve found it.” Smitty turned to face him, his cheeks flushing, as well. He didn’t even know fairies could exhibit sheepishness in such a way. “I think the whole world’s been waiting on him, too.”

“Perhaps Velios wanted him in just the right place at just the right time.” Jay inclined, and John began to shrink in on himself, trying to make himself small, out of their sight. Smitty’s words made his stomach do flips- but an oddly good kind, not the flips it does before one gets sick. He’d felt it just before they’d set off with Jay, when Smitty had said such kind things to him, and his words still had the same affect, if not an even stronger one. 

John knew what affection was- he wasn’t stupid- but he also knew that humans had no business showing their affection for fairies, and for that, he dismissed the warm feelings altogether.

He was brought back to attention with Smitty trying to stand to his feet, wobbling on his knees as they threatened to collapse. John was immediately standing by his side, arm around his waist, chest tightening with worry. “What are you doing? You’re far too weak to get out of bed, let alone walk!”

Smitty turned to him, then, placing his hand on John’s cheek. He froze beneath it, but the fairy must not have noticed. “I’ll be fine, John. We have to keep a move-on and get to Wrenomya before the Princess Bordia returns with more forces. We can rest there.”

Jay was on his feet now, hand with a deathly grip around the handle of his sword. “It’s not worth it, Smitius. We should stay here until at least tomorrow morning and let you heal before you do any strenuous work.”

Smitty looked to the man, straightening his back as if to prove he was up to the challenge. “Fetch me a stick for support, and pack your things. We leave as soon as possible.”

Jay was visibly irate with him, but only gave a sigh. “Fine. But we will walk- you will not waste your energy calling for three moose from Velios knows how far away. You must use as little energy as possible if we want to make it to Wrenomya.”

Smitty seemed pleased with this, giving them a nod. “It is settled, then.”

They began their trek soon after, and although the forest floor had began to smooth along their way, Smitty still was left dragging himself along with his walking stick, and John feared the worst if he kept refusing to break. But still, they charged onward, and the trees grew less and less compact along their way.

When Smitty finally collapsed heavily onto the ground, he wasn’t conscious to tell them he needed rest. John dropped everything he carried, falling to his side. He lifted the front of his body and pushed him back onto his knees as to avoid damaging the large, drooping wings, and Smitty’s face only landed on his chest.

Somewhere behind him, Jay kicked at a rock, furious and frustrated. “Damn it all!” He shouted, “we never should have gone with him in that state…” 

John could feel tears gathering at his eyes. There was still a pulse within Smitty- he could feel it beating heavily against his chest- but his entire being was wrecked with worry and sheer pity, a sudden feeling of dreadful vulnerability settle over him. It didn’t help that Jay, perhaps one of the most deadly beings on the planet, now had his face in his hands, just as distressed as he.

The forest fell quiet but his tears fell quieter, one hand moving to card through Smitty’s hair. He could only ask himself _why_ ; Why did Smitty insist on moving so fast, even when he knew he wasn’t able? Why did they let him in the first place? As much as they’d travelled in the last five hours or so, John still felt that they’d come no further to their goal, as they sat around while their friend lay unconscious.

It wasn’t the first time in his life he felt hopeless. He’d felt it when he lost his father, and when he lost his mother soon after. He’d felt it the whole of the year spent on the streets, and when he was kneeled before his king, having his rights stripped away and dreading what would have followed. This was only the second time, however, he’d felt like giving up. When he had laid there upon the forest floor, awaiting his death, he’d been so ready to give into his body’s demands- and yet, Smitty had shown him a light. But now that Smitty wasn’t here, there wasn’t a light to look to.

When he felt the rumbling in the distance, he looked to the sky only to find it the same shade of blue, not a chance of rain in sight. He narrowed his eyes upward before looking to find Jay taking his head out of his hands, listening.

“Can you hear it?” John asked him, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. “The rumbling?”

It grew closer, but it was still terribly far off in the distance. Jay nodded his head, standing to his feet and keeping his ears wide open. The entire forest around them seemed frozen until he saw the creatures in the trees and among the ground, listening just as closely as them. A deer was the first to bound in the other direction, soon followed by birds taking to the skies with their startlement and the bushes rustling as skunks and possums and the sort bound away.

“What’s happening?” John questioned, and the rumbling only continued to grow louder. A sick feeling began to settle in his stomach as he dreaded the worst. Jay slowly plucked his sword from the ground yet didn’t take a defensive stance, only letting the end rest against the grass. Jay only listened in silence, his shoulders falling. “Jay?”

“It’s not Bordia.” He warned John, as if he’d read his mind. “It’s something else.”

“Wh…” John looked around for an answer. The rumbling was caving in, now, and it began to sound less like rumbling and more of something he knew yet couldn’t quite identify in the moment. “...what is it?”

“If it were Bordia, the forest would remain alive. Whatever’s coming this way has its effect on the environment around us.” Jay informed him. The rumbling was close, now, yet he still hadn’t taken a stance, and John was left clueless until he could finally hear it-

Heavy hooves against the ground, rocking the forest in their wake. They were approaching as fast as an eagle could fly, and they weren’t the hooves of any ordinary horse. They were too large for that. And as the stampede surrounded them, enclosing them in their circle, he finally understood.

The mighty Centaurs of Wrenomya.

Jay was quick to kneel before the centaur that stepped forward, a large decorated spear in hand as he puffed his built chest forward. The centaur, in that moment, seemed like the epitome of power; his thick, dark locks cascaded down his back, some braided while the rest ran in waves, and his lower body must have been nearly twice the size of an average horse’s. John was sure that, if he could have knelt in that moment without Smitty in his arms, he would have been too stunned to move.

“What has happened to this fairy, good travellers?” The centaur proclaimed, resting the butt of his spear against the forest floor. Jay looked up at him, hand on his chest while the other wrapped around the handle of his sword upon the ground.

“His magic has been too far spent, my good Chief Raylon. We’ve just narrowly escaped the forces of King Wilfor of Vale, and a day’s worth of travel has left the Great Smitius of the Greenwood weak. The dying of Erestia is to blame for his suffering.” John looked down at Smitty and back up to Raylon, who studied Smitty with a curious eye. Jay shifted where he was kneeled. “We have been trying to make it to your homeland in search of refuge before we continue our journey.”

A few moments of silence passed before Raylon turned to the centauride standing beside him. “We shall take them to our village and let the Great Smitius heal. Today’s hunt shall come to a halt. Charge ahead and tell Galian of our coming-” Raylon looked back and forth between he and Jay. “-that is, if you two wish to accept our hospitality?”

Jay looked back at him, giving a light nod. While this was all a very strange encounter, he had to admit that the tales of the centaurs had been one of his favorites as a child, and this would have basically been a dream come true. Furthermore, the centaurs seemed to have known Jay at least to some extent, and if he trusted them, it was only right that John trusted them, too. After all, Jay could tell no lies- he was being watched by Velios. And so, he nodded back to Raylon in reply.

The centauride crossed an arm over her chest as a salute, and John noticed how her chest remained bare while most of the other centaurides present had them bound with leather. It didn’t take long to figure out that her bosom was also much more flat than many of the other centaurides, and with the way she rode off, he assumed the bindings must have been more for comfort while riding. He felt a bit ashamed to have assumed all centaurides covered up- but then again, this wasn’t Vale, and the centaurides probably weren’t expected to.

Raylon beat his spear against the ground with three heavy thuds, shaking the forest to its very core, and three centaurs were quick to stand by the chief’s side. “Arise, my good travellers. You shall be transported to our village upon our backs. As for Smitius-” Raylon cut himself off for a moment to think, humming to himself before turning to face a centaur behind him. “-do we have any straps left, perchance?”

“I’m sure we have a few. We’ve only caught one bear, today.”

“It is done, then. I’d rather not have our guest falling off on the way there.” Raylon gestured a centaur towards where John still sat upon the ground. “Help our friend tie Smitius to your back. It’d be best sitting up.”

“And what of his wings, Chief?” Raylon went still for a moment before he reached up to scratch his beard in thought. It was almost comical, John thought to himself. He’d imagined the centaurs to be these big, powerful forces of nature- in which they somewhat were- but they seemed to be even more...friendly than he’d first thought. It was almost a familial-like feeling that radiated from them, and very hospital indeed.

“I suppose we should have thought this through beforehand.” Raylon spoke, his voice low. John looked down at Smitty’s wings, trying to come up with a solution on his own.

“Well, I’m not sure we nor any of our forefathers have ever had to transport an unconscious fairy miles back to the village.”

“A very good point.”

“Chief,” A centaur approached Raylon with bundles of thick, heavy straps, presenting them. “We’ve got plenty left. It should be enough to keep His Greatest secured.”

John carefully slid his pack off his shoulder, reaching into it to retrieve a rope- not too thick, but still sturdy- and began scouring the ground for sticks. Jay gave him an odd look from afar. “What’s caught your attention, John?”

“I was thinking we could clip his wings from the outer edges, and perhaps tie a rope of some sort around the area where wing meets skin,” John responded. He looked to where Jay now stood and spotted what he was looking for by his feet. “Do you mind tossing me those two sticks?”

Jay kneeled down again and held up a stick in question, and John nodded before the man grabbed the matching one and chucked them in his direction. As a centaur kneeled by John’s side, ready for mounting, he placed the two sticks together and tied the rope loosely around them.

He looked down at where Smitty still lay unconscious and let out a somewhat anxious sigh. Yes, this was all very odd, indeed.

Jay aided him in hauling Smitty onto the centaur’s body and leaning him against his back before John stood to fiddle with his wings, taking them both and putting them together. It seemed that they not only looked like glass, but felt like it, too, and he was wary to even try out his little concoction. Even still, he slid them between the two sticks and tightened the rope to clip them together, and although they drooped down and a bit to the right, they still stayed put where they were.

“You’re quite clever, aren’t you?” Jay observed, holding onto Smitty as the centaur beneath him rose to his feet. Two centaurides took Jay’s place to start strapping him to the other’s back, and John felt oddly uncomfortable letting them handle it. He felt he should have done it himself, as peculiar as it was. “I’d expect nothing less from a man raised by librarians.”

He took the compliment with pride, yet his cheeks didn’t flush like they did with Smitty’s praise. He wasn’t really complaining- it was a bit embarrassing, to say the least. “You’re too kind.”

“Are you ready to mount, sir?” A centaur kneeled before him, tying long, auburn hair back into a bun with a string. John stood awkwardly for a moment before sliding onto his back, not quite sure what to do with his hands. Luckily, the centaur must have read his mind. “Keep your hands on my waist or shoulders. It wouldn’t be too good if you fell off.”

He grabbed onto his waist just as the centaur rose to his feet, and he was sure he must have been at least six and a half feet off ground upon him. Jay, on the other hand, looked as if he had done this every day of his life, which brought into question just how much Jay had experienced in a lifetime that couldn’t have spanned for more than thirty years, with how young he looked.

The centaur moved to stand next to the one Smitty was sat upon, and looking to him, John saw his eyes open, if only for a few seconds. He didn’t try to move where he was strapped in, though John saw him clench his hands from where they were bound in front of the centaur’s chest. Smitty only looked at him, and John could only gaze back.

Though his mouth barely moved, he heard Smitty utter a distinct call: “ _John_.” 

Then, he closed his eyes and slept once more, and John released the breath he’d been holding in. The centaur reached down to pick up John’s pack for him, and it took a few moments to register that it was his, and quickly slid it over his shoulder. He took one last glance at Smitty, hoping for him to awaken once more, but to no avail. 

They set off, and rode for an hour straight, their swift pace unyielding. The forest had spaced out more and more until they reached open grasslands, and John knew they had finally reached Wrenomya. 

He’d heard of its glory from all the tales; Wrenomya, the place where life had first been birthed, open fields stretching clear out to the sea. It was the land where the grass could grow clear to your head as his father would tell him, but the wildlife that grazed there would be sure to eat it before it could grow any taller. It was the land where life flourished in all its glory, rivalling perhaps even that of Feradonia- and, emerging from that forest and riding onto their land for the first time, he knew there wasn’t a single place in Erestia so glorious.

His entire life, he’d been bound to a single city, knowing nothing of what lay beyond other than what he’d read in books. Nothing, not even the great Greenwood forest, could prepare him for the overwhelming freedom he felt among the open fields of Wrenomya. He only wished Smitty was awake to see it with him.

They reached the village just as the sun was beginning to set, still high in the sky, and they were greeted by a group of excited, young centaurs and centaurides, trotting happily by their sides and laying waves of questions upon them. Still, as much as he heard them question about _those odd strangers mounting them_ , the grown centaurs only kept them by their sides, refusing to let them speak to John and his company (this did not, however, keep them from staring). 

The village itself wasn’t too terribly expansive, but by no means small in size. Grass had been stamped down into wide paths over time yet gardens and flower beds were still plentiful around the area. Between these paths, every now and again, was a large fire pit, each one roasting an animal overtop of it as they passed. The houses were sturdy and built from heavy, wooden logs, a chimney seeming to sprout from each and every door a thick fur hide hanging from the tall entryway. 

It was to one of these houses that Raylon gestured to- one rather large compared to the others- and while the party began to split and go in their separate directions with the young centaurs, a single centauride came to their side and directed them towards the cabin. “You’ll be staying at our medical quarters. Come quickly, now; I can’t imagine His Greatness’ wings feel too good being clipped like that.”

John let himself be lead to the large cabin, ducking his head beneath the doorway as the centaur beneath him did. He was led to a spacious, fur-carpeted area, a fire crackling in the hearth across the single room. The centaur kneeled and John was quick to climb off, soon regretting it as he struggled to stand after an hour of vigorous riding. The centaurs carrying his friends followed them in, and John and Jay lifted Smitty from the centaur’s back. 

“Set him on one of those beddings. You’ll be sleeping in those, for the time being.” John didn’t pay much attention to exactly which centaur gave the order; he was only worried about getting Smitty to rest. And so they laid him among the most heavily furred bedding, laying him on his stomach. John quickly took the twigs off of his wings and spread them gently over the ground, briefly admiring them before retrieving the rope and tossing the twigs aside.

“Get as much rest as you require. We’ll soon bring dinner as the time comes,” The centauride spoke, the others ducking out of the cabin. John sat himself on the ground, his body seemingly too heavy for his legs. “I’m sure Chief Raylon will call for a feast tonight in your presence. Rest easy, good strangers.”

John was left staring at the furs in the doorway as the centauride took her leave, barely registering Jay crawling into one of the beddings at Smitty’s other side. Suddenly, all of the overwhelming and bewildering emotions he’d been numb to ever since Smitty collapsed hit him all at once, and he was left not knowing exactly what he needed, nor what exactly he was feeling at all. 

The hour they’d spent between meeting the centaurs and being brought to their home suddenly felt like a mere few seconds, and he realized he couldn’t recall any visual memories of the journey. He could only remember getting his first taste of freedom; anything after that must have been worry for Smitty. While it didn’t seem very odd to him in the moment, he knew it was rather peculiar behavior; he’d known Smitty for a week, yet he felt and acted as if they’d known each other much longer. Everything just felt _strange_. 

“John,” Jay spoke, cutting through the silence. He grounded himself and turned to face him. Jay was laying on his side, propping himself up with his elbow. “rest.” 

John turned to the two beddings before him, and chose to take the one closest to Smitty. He wormed his way beneath the thick layers, and next to him, Smitty’s wing retracted, if only slightly, to give him room. John found himself laying on his side, gazing with tired eyes at Smitty in hopes he would awaken- but, alas, to no avail.

He turned over and slept. He slept rather heavily- enough so that he didn’t have a single dream- and he slept clear into the morning- and upon awakening while Jay and Smitty remained asleep, he somehow felt utterly exhausted even still. However, he dragged himself out of the bedding to reach over to his things and grab his belt, strapping to his waist, sword and all. 

He stood and pulled back the furs hanging from the doorway just slightly, his eyes shutting as they’re met with the bright morning light. He soon adjusted, however, and made his way out of the cabin, briefly relishing in the warm sun before setting off.

He wasn’t sure where he was going; all he knew was that he felt the need to move around, stretch his aching limbs, let his fatigue slide off his shoulders. He walked slow, taking the time to look around as he went. A centaur would wave to him every now and again, and he would give a smile and a wave back, though not as eager in his gestures as they. As thankful as he was to be in their safe presence, they were still strangers- not to mention the people he dreamed about during his childhood. Yes, it was all very odd, indeed.

He couldn’t have been walking for more than two minutes before a young centauride came bounding to his side, an elevated smile plastered to her lips as her hooves beat heavily upon the ground. He was followed by two centaurs that couldn’t have been much older than her. John found himself startled, but forced himself to keep his hand from clenching the hilt of his sword. 

“You’re one of the strangers that Chief Raylon found yesterday!” She exclaimed, walking by his side as she took a gentle hold of his arm. John was slightly weirded out by the touch, but allowed himself to be lead on. “What’s your name, good stranger?”

“Uh, John.”

“Just ‘John?’” One of the boys questioned, both taking to his other side. He suddenly felt somewhat claustrophobic, but not enough to be terribly uncomfortable. He felt it was something he could quickly get used to. 

“Well, my full name is Jonathan Keyes, but I’ve always preferred ‘John.’”

“You have _two_ names?” The girl exclaimed, her eyes wide. John’s brow furrowed.

“You _don’t_?” 

“Children! I told you not to pester our guests!” John snapped his head forward to see a centaur perhaps even larger than Raylon, yet appearing a bit older with his hair and beard beginning to grey yet his body was still built heavily with muscle. As demanding as he sounded, he seemed like a gentle creature, even for his size. His benign nature was proven when the young centaurs only giggled, trotting back happily to their elder’s side, before he said something to send them bounding back to a group of grown centaurides.

“I’m afraid I must apologize on their behalf,” The centaur proclaimed, approaching. John couldn’t help but feel intimidated as he loomed over him, but even as foreign as he felt in their land, he somehow knew this centaur wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. “I am Hespion, Senior Advisor to Chief Raylon and the educator of the village’s youth. What is your title, good stranger?”

Well, this was embarrassing. “I, erm, don’t have a title. My name is John.”

“Well, from what I’ve been told, you most certainly are an interesting fellow, Sir John!” He nearly corrected the centaur (for he most certainly wasn’t knighted to deserve the title of “Sir”) but held his tongue. There was no need to disrespect his hosts. “Say, that sword at your hip- I’ve never seen markings such as those.”

John looked down to his weapon, pondering for a moment before he slowly drew it from its sheath. The centaur extended his hands in question, and John slowly obliged as he set the sword gently down upon the centaur’s bare palms. Hespion eyed it curiously before taking it into his hand, holding it up for further inspection. He then stepped back from John and began to swing it about and, unconsciously, John took a step back, as well.

Hespion nodded as he approached once more to return it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where did you come into possession of such an ancient sword? It’s most certainly Valian, but it must be centuries old with how those markings have been carved. It nearly looks Elvish.”

“I thought the same thing when Smitius gave it to me.” John laid it flat across his palms, but did not yet sheath it. His own curiosity had caught him. For a brief moment, he recalled how he’d truly used it for the first time just the other day, but he quickly subdued the memory. “He’d told me he didn’t know how to use it when he gave it to me. I asked him why he owned a sword he was unable to use, but...he didn’t tell me.”

Hespion hummed lowly, his legs briefly shifting beneath him. “Well, he is a fairy, you know; he’s lived many years, and with them, he’s carried many secrets.” John nodded, sword falling to his right hand. “I can, however, sense the bond you hold with the Great Smitius.” John looked up at him, his heart beginning to beat faster in his chest. Hespion gazed at him, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “I’m sure he will have much to tell you as time goes on. Fairies were never the most trusting sort, but I sense your connection runs deeper than a mere fellowship.”

John considered his words for a brief moment, feeling his chest lighten after days of feeling it shrouded in darkness. Hespion, however, had his attention to the subject taken away. “You do not know how to use a sword either, do you?” He pointed out. 

John’s brow lifted, eyes darting from his weapon back up to Hespion. “No, good sir, I do not.”

“Perhaps you would wish to learn, then!” Hespion exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face. “I have taught the art of swordsmanship to this village’s youth for the last century, and if it is the path of a journey you are taking, you must learn to fight!”

“Would you truly be so kind to teach me, sir?” John spoke, breathless. Few people in his life had ever seemed so eager to help him, and he couldn’t help but feel his heart race even faster in excitement. It wasn’t the idea of learning to swordfight that made him exhilarated, per se, but more the fact that someone was so pleased to help him. It’d been a rare occurrence in his lifetime. 

“Of course, Sir John! Come, you have not eaten, and all of your hard work will be wasted if we first do not feast!” Hespion moved to walk by his side, placing a hand down on John’s shoulder to lead him along. His hand was rather large and calloused, but it was also gentle and warm, and the familial feeling he’d felt before resurfaced. How odd it was that a man he’d met just minutes ago could feel so inviting.

Along their way, Hespion would point out certain buildings and other centaurs, in which some of the latter would wave or bid them a ‘good morning.’ It was obvious these peoples were close to one another, and everything about their village seemed light and hospital, but above all, _safe_. These people felt no fear around one another, nor did they seem to fear what lay beyond their village borders. To John, their village was a symbol of Wrenomya as a whole- a place where anyone was welcome. 

Hespion led him to a large hut with a whole wall missing as an entrance. Within it was a long table, bulky and closer to the ground yet still a bit high for John’s size, and around it sat what appeared to be the youth of the village, feasting on the plethora of dishes offered to them. He recognized the young centaurs he’d been greeted by earlier, and they smiled up at him with stuffed mouths.

Hespion gestured to the end of the table. “You may sit here. The table may be a bit tall for you, and for that I must apologize.”

“No, you don’t have to apologize to me. Thank you very much.” John replied, sitting on his knees.

“Eat anything you’d like, and as much as you want. No one here goes hungry.” Hespion moved to sit at the opposite end of the table, and for what must have been an hour, John feasted as the young centaurs chattered his ears off with questions and stories. He told them little of himself to spare them the details of his kingdom, but they were more than happy to tell him of Wrenomya and their race. By the time his stomach was full and the young centaurs were beginning to disperse, he completely understood why some Valians risked their lives to make it to the centaurs’ homeland: a life in Wrenomya was a life lived free.

Hespion led him back to an open plot of land just before the cabin in which they were staying, the elder now bearing his sword. It was a very large weapon, but he assumed it would be, as centaurs were very large beings. Still, the centaur promised he’d be gentle with John, as it was his first time training; any real matches would be saved for a time later down the road.

They spent a while just correcting his posture and his grip on the weapon, things John hadn’t even considered when using his sword for the first time. It was when they first began to softly clash swords that Jay emerged from the cabin, smirking as he observed with his back against the cabin wall. For a while, John went back and forth with Hespion, his movements becoming less stiff as the minutes flew by. Soon, they found a good rhythm, only knocking weapons against the other as the centaur remained true to his word about going easy.

Eventually, Hespion let John give his arms a rest, and while John was left with aching limbs and sore hands, the centaur seemed unfazed. Instead, Hespion turned to Jay, now sat against the cabin.

“I noticed your unique weapon as you rode in, yesterday. I assume you have prior training with swords?” He called.

Jay stood, groaning slightly before he approached with a languid pace. “Swordsmanship is my best skill, right next to knife-throwing.” 

The look Hespion gave Jay was devious, challenging. “Would you care for a spar, then? I’ve rarely fought against double-edged swords in my lifetime, and I can see you’re a very skilled man.”

Jay smirked, heading back into the cabin. “Consider it a harmless duel, my good host!”

He emerged not a minute later, sword held at the hilt behind his back. His form was loose yet elegant, swinging the sword just slightly as Hespion swung his. John decided to take a seat against the cabin, his interest piqued. He’d rarely seen duels between two people as skilled as Jay and Hespion were, and he’d be damned if he didn’t allow himself a while to sit down.

“Winner claims victory when the other loses their sword. Satisfactory?” Hespion offered, briefly sheathing his sword to pull back his hair to expose his sun-kissed shoulders. 

“Very.” Jay got into a defensive position and, looking around, John could see they’d caught the attention of other centaurs. A few of the younger ones came bounding from their cabins, a good distance away yet the excitement still showed clear on their faces. It seemed swordsmanship was a favored pastime as well as a required skill.

The duel began, and John’s attention was seized by the flurry of steel against steel and how quickly they moved about, using every inch of space they had. Their styles of battle contrasted so greatly and yet they were evenly matched, neither able to land a good hit nor knock the sword out of the other’s hand. He was convinced not even a minute in that the duel would end when they both dropped in exhaustion, since neither seemed any less skilled than their opponent. 

“John?” He snapped his head to the doorway, seeing Smitty with a bewildered expression. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest. “Why have we come to a centaurian village? And why is Jay sparring with one of their elders?”

He quickly took note of the way Smitty’s eyes were still hooded in exhaustion, and extended a hand to the fairy. “Come, sit. I’ll tell you everything. For Velios, you should still be resting!”

Smitty stumbled over to John and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder for support as he dropped to his knees. Smitty kept his body faced towards him as for his wings to not hit the wall, but his eyes were still trained on John. John shuffled a bit closer, his attention too taken to notice how Jay had just nearly lost his sword not too far away. He also failed to realize that nearly the entire village was now watching from afar, cheering the two of them on.

“You collapsed, again. You’ve got to stop overestimating your abilities in your weak state.” John told him, their eyes meeting. Smitty’s gaze lowered sheepishly. “I was worried sick. It was even worse than when we’d fought Bordia’s men…” The image settled into his mind again, and he shook his head to himself as if it would rid of it. “Luckily, the centaurs were passing through during their hunt, and they’ve taken the liberty of hosting and healing us in your holy name. I don’t know what would have happened if they hadn’t rescued us.”

Smitty was silent for a few long moments, his eyes averting to observe the duel before nervously finding John’s once more. “I’m sorry. I never meant to worry you, and it hurts me now that I know I have.” Smitty licked his lips before continuing: “I only wanted to keep you safe, so I forced myself to keep going to better avoid Bordia before she returned. I couldn’t live with myself if anything were to happen to you under my watch.” Smitty looked him in the eye, sincere. “I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you, but I’ll keep careful watch over my own health, as well.”

Coming from a fairy, he’d just been bestowed with the highest honor; this mattered not, however, because this was coming from Smitty, and to John, that mattered infinitely more.

It really was odd how close people could come in a week.

They sat for a while longer in comfortable silence until the duel ended, and much to John’s surprise, Jay had his sword knocked from his hands, sent flying in a random direction. The other centaurs hollered and cheered in victory, but Jay was still smiling (albeit out of breath). Hespion sheathed his sword and crossed an arm over his chest, and Jay was quick to follow, bowing briefly for the centaur.

“You have fought well, my good guest. A true warrior!” He declared, and the centaurs cheered louder still. John watched as Jay blushed, his smile brighter than he’d ever seen. Jay had always carried melancholy on his shoulder, but now, John saw nothing but pure joy in his eye. Even more so, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so much happiness in a group of people; the citizens of Vale had no reason for such ecstacy, but for the centaurs, it seemed it was a gift given to them every day. It truly was a sight to behold.

John continued his training in swordsmanship under the close eye and encouragement of Smitty, his skill quickly increasing as they kept their loose yet relentless pace. They feasted at noon with the centaurian youth, and again at night with the village as a whole, a multitude of tables lined down the path at the village’s center. Raylon was sat closely with another centaur at the head of their table with Smitty directly to his right, John next to him. Across from them, Hespion sat with Jay, still chatting about their methods and strategies of combat.

“How are you feeling, my Great Smitius?” Raylon inclined. John felt Smitty shift next to him, and from the static yet nonchalant manner Smitty had been in all day, it was hard to tell how well he was healing.

“I feel fantastic, Chief Raylon.” Smitty smiled to him, and John felt his chest loosen as he had another bite of the roast they’d been served. Smitty, earlier, had declined- whether it was because he didn’t eat meat or didn’t have to eat at all was unbeknownst to him. “I believe I shall be well enough in the morning to take my leave with my friends, here.”

John’s heart sank in worry. “Are you sure? We’ve only been here a day…” 

“You needn’t fear for me, John,” Smitty put a hand on his shoulder, and John’s heart began to race upon contact. “I promised you, I’d keep careful watch over my own health. I’ve been resting all day, whether or not I was awake, and I’m feeling very much better.” John could only gaze at him a moment longer before nodding, turning back to his meal. 

“May I ask where you’re headed, my friends?” Hespion questioned, leaning closer in interest. Jay, with his mouth stuffed full, turned to John to give an answer. 

John swallowed. “We’re off to find Sir Eric, Tamer of Dragons and Slayer of Beasts.” The chatter and movement around them seemed to die down as he mentioned the name. “We...have no idea where he is, however. All we know is that he’s here in Wrenomya.”

“Well, you’d certainly be right about that!” Hespion exclaimed, his smile widening. John saw Raylon and the centaur next to him begin to smile, as well. “We came across him when he first seeked refuge in our lands, as many Valians had done before him. He still visits us every now and again, but he hasn’t brought his dragon along for many years.”

“Do you know where we could find him? We wish to speak to him, as well.” Smitty asked, his wings fluttering just slightly. 

“Well, he’s just a day’s north of here on foot in the small town of Persia! We can fetch a map of Wrenomya for you, if you’d wish?” Hespion offered.

Smitty leaned in, still smiling. “Would you truly be so kind?”

They retired to their cabins later that night and, finding his bedding, Smitty seemed to be out upon impact. He trusted his word that Smitty was doing better, but John assumed that didn’t make him too much more energized. And so, he laid down in the bedding beside him, still mindful of his wings, and ended up staring at the ceiling when sleep refused to find him.

Gazing over Smitty, Jay seemed to be asleep as well, his back turned to the two of them to face what was still left burning on the hearth. John sighed and laid down upon his stomach, closing his eyes to try once more. 

He wasn’t quite sure when Smitty’s wing slid slowly on top of him, nor was he sure whether the fairy was conscious while doing it- but for the first time in years, he finally felt wholly and utterly safe.

The next morning, they packed their things as the sun found its place in the sky. They were met with the sorrowful expressions of the young centaurs when leaving their cabin, pleading them to stay just a while longer, and John felt just as terrible when he had to decline. Even still, Smitty assured them that they may one day return, and John gave them a near-tearful farewell.

They waved to the centaurs one last time as they left the village, and John couldn’t shake the woe building in his chest. In just over a day, he realized, he’d found a home like no other he’d seen- and although it wasn’t one to call his own, the centaurs welcomed them with open arms and without question. He hadn’t felt a place as warm as theirs since before his parents passed, but he just knew that they’d welcome them again if need be.

He looked to Smitty for assurance, and the fairy was quick to give him a warm smile, walking closer by his side. Perhaps, John assumed, the centaurs would one day offer him a home- but he’d already come to find that “home” was with the people he held closest to him. And, just from the smile Smitty gave him, he knew he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why, you may be asking, is this chapter 8k words long? well, dear reader, that's because i'm an idiot who just loves centaurs too much, and I didn't wanna split it into two because they go together too well. its complicated and took a week longer than it was supposed to but HEY here we are
> 
> if yall didnt catch it earlier, female centaurs (centaurides) dont usually bind their busts and instead just leave them open unless theyre hunting or doing some other activity that involves running, because i dont know if yall have been on the back of a horse but that shit can be ROUGH and they gotta LIVE with that so they oughta keep em bound to not hurt themselves. i dont know why these lil things make me so happy i just UGH
> 
> also the song this chap was named after is fucking GORGEOUS, and even if its not the standard huge orchestral piece i usually deliver, it's still fantastic, so go have a listen!!!! it was so good i didnt even wanna ruin it by adding an additional track!!!!!!!!!
> 
> thank you all so much for supporting this story, i greatly appreciate the feedback!!!!!!


	6. Dragon Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> U ALREADY KNO WHO IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "[Dragon Rider](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXCrk7GcSXw)" by Two Steps From Hell here.
> 
> Additional Track: "[A Tale of Soaring Dragons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVnxsjAIfWg)" by Lion's Heart.

For a day they walked, Jay bearing the map close in hand as they charged north. Smitty, still with a walking stick (albeit a new one) followed close behind, and even as he appeared and insisted he was well, John still bore worry in his chest. He wasn’t sure he could keep his composure if Smitty were to collapse again, and it would have been a great calamity as they were so close to finding Sir Eric.

They slept the night in a small cavern, each exhausted enough to drop dead until the sun peeked over the horizon, and they were gone as soon as they’d came. Smitty’s steps grew solid, and his walking stick was left behind as they moved forward. They had travelled past noon when they finally came upon the marked town of Persia, one of the few settlements in Wrenomya solely composed of immigrants from Vale, as Raylon had informed. 

Making their way through the streets, John took note of just how calm the town was compared to the capital city of Vale, and how every man, woman and building seemed to have been kissed by the sun with how bright the air was. The place was spacious, almost making the town seem bigger than it truly was, and life flourished at every corner, whether in the form of man or vegetation. No child seemed hungry, nor did any resident where rags in place of proper clothing. They wore smiles on their faces(as well as bewilderment upon seeing Smitty’s wings, but none bothered to approach them about the matter) and spoke to each other with glee as they passed. Persia was the polar opposite of its root city, and John had yet another reason to assume that most Valians would put their lives at stake just to make it to Wrenomya.

They agreed to simply start asking Persia’s residents of Sir Eric’s whereabouts as it seemed the town was rather close-knit. However, every person they asked seemed hesitant to even give an answer, and only replied with something along the lines of “I know of no such person.” It took them not more than five residents to realize that they weren’t going to get very far by asking just anyone, whether they were withholding information or genuinely had no idea who they were talking about (in which, the latter was utterly unreasonable with how close the people seemed to be with each other). 

“What about that blacksmith?” Jay pointed out, nodding his head in the direction of a woman across the street, her hammer falling continuously down upon a blade. “If Sir Eric was a knight, I wouldn’t doubt he didn’t visit that blacksmith at least once or twice.”

“It’s worth a try,” Smitty replied, standing straight from the pole he’d been leaning against. “We don’t have many other options, at this point.”

They made their way across the street to the woman’s establishment that could be described as a three-walled, open room. As they approached, she ceased her actions and lifted the mask from her face, letting it sit upon her head. She set her hammer upon a table and put her gloved hands on her hips when they came to stand before her. Her presence was demanding, but far from unfriendly.

“What brings you here, gentlemen?” She swallowed before giving a curt nod to Smitty. “...Good Fairy.”

“We’re looking for a previously knighted gentleman, Sir Eric. Would you happen to know him?” Jay questioned. The woman furrowed her brow before pulling the gloves from her hands. “We only wish to speak with him. Your town seems very protective of him, however.”

“That we are…” The woman replied. She licked her lips before continuing. “I know him, but I’m hesitant to freely hand out his whereabouts to strangers, as you can imagine. How do I know you’re not working for the king?”

Jay gave a low, dejected huff before he stepped forward, hastily pulling back his sleeve. There, an unknown symbol was engraved into his skin, though it was one he was sure he’d seen before. Its origin became clear, however, when he saw the markings loosely formed the imagine of a wolf. “I once served as an assassin to the king, but I am no longer employed by anyone for such business. I’ve met Sir Eric while we had both been employed by Wilfor, and I can assure you, I mean no harm.”

She gripped his wrist softly to bring it closer to her eye before releasing it. “He’s spoken of you, now that I recall. You’re the infamous Rogue?”

Jay covered his tattoo just as quickly as he’d shown it to them. “It’s just ‘Jay,’ now.”

She huffed shaking her head with a smile that could have easily been a smirk. “Eric once told me, you probably could have taken him on in battle and won, had he not had a dragon by his side.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her entire demeanor changed. “He lives about half a mile out of town, down the road spanning east. It’s a large one, old but sturdy, built from oak. You can’t miss it.”

Jay held out his hand, and the woman took it with earnest. “We thank you greatly, madame.”

“No need. And tell Eric he should pay a visit, soon; I haven’t seen him in a month.” 

She waved them off as they went about their way, taking the east road out of the town. Their pace had been picked up as they all were eager to finally speak with Sir Eric, but John couldn’t help but begin to feel his doubt from days ago set in once more. After all, he couldn’t imagine their chances of actually getting Sir Eric to come along willingly were very high, especially when they just showed up at his door to persuade him into an adventure like a bunch of madmen.

He shook the thought from his mind. That kind of thinking would get him nowhere, he told himself. He instead focused his attention on _literally anything else_ which, for a minute or two, worked quite well, until his conscience strayed back to their encounter with that woman. Who exactly was she, he wondered, and was she a close friend of some sort to Sir Eric? Perhaps they were closer?

He then recalled Jay pulling up his sleeve to reveal the circular tattoo on his inner wrist, bearing the symbol of a wolf. He knew its origin, now, but considering that very thing, would it be something he could bring up to Jay? There was no reason to other than curiosity, and he was sure a place as wretched and torturous as the Wolfhouse had implemented horrendous memories into Jay’s head. John himself had never stepped foot inside that building, but if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he would never let himself stray far enough from the path of reality to end up in a place like that. He could only wonder how Jay ended up there.

It took them not even ten minutes to come across the house they’d been told of, matching the description down to the wood, and John found himself internally panicking from doubt once more. Even still, he held himself in confidence as they approached the large, oak door. Jay was the one to use the knocker, his sword gripped tightly in the other hand. John stood with Smitty a couple steps back, and he found himself unconsciously inching closer to the fairy for comfort. As their shirts brushed, neither pulled back, and it seemed that Smitty didn’t really mind.

When the door opened, John wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this man didn’t stray too far from it. He kept a hand out of sight while the other leaned against the doorway above his head, seemingly relaxed, but John could see how tense he was. He was short but not too terribly so, with a thick yet neatly trimmed beard. His stature was larger, although it was mostly muscle, as John could see from his rolled up sleeves. He didn’t look like a knight, but John didn’t rule out the possibility just yet.

“Pardon us, my good sir,” Jay did a slight bow, crossing his palm over his chest in the Valian salute. “I find this rather odd to say, but we’ve met before! I am- er-” Jay paused, and John was sure his friend was unsure of how to properly introduce himself to someone he’d probably only met on a few separate occasions. “-I am formerly known as the assassin Rogue, but now I’m only referred to as ‘Jay.’”

He stuck out his hand for Sir Eric, in which the knight hesitantly accepted. He gave Jay an odd look as he continued, but didn’t comment just yet. “These are my comrades, John of Vale and the Great Fairy Smitius of the Greenwood.” Jay gestured to them with an extended hand, and John was only able to swallow nervously. Everything was awkward. They really should have thought this through beforehand. “We’re here to speak with the Great Sir Eric, Tamer of Dragons and Slayer of Beasts!”

Sir Eric’s other hand came into view, revealing a bulky yet fine sword in his grasp. Jay took a step back, hand still gripping tightly around his own weapon. “What business do you have with Sir Eric?” The man asked, and John furrowed his brow in bewilderment.

“Are you not Sir Eric?” He asked, and the man leaned off the doorway to rest his sword heavily upon his shoulder.

“Depends on what you’re asking.” 

An uncomfortable silence befell the four of them, and John looked to Jay for a response, and then helplessly to Smitty, but to no avail. Feeling a burst of confidence, John stepped forward, hand brushing along Smitty’s as he went.

“We request your aid in our journey north. At the very least, we ask for your guidance and counsel, if you will not come in person.” Sir Eric furrowed his brow in thought before he took a step back, extending his hand indoors with welcome.

“Come in.”

Jay briefly turned back to John, giving him a nod of praise before entering Sir Eric’s home, thanking him as he went. John did the same, but stood by for support as Smitty attempted to make it through the doorway without hitting his wings on anything. Once he’d successfully navigated himself into the room, Sir Eric led them to his table and took a seat. Smitty sat as well, but John was inclined to stand, and it seemed Jay felt the same. His feet didn’t ache quite enough to sit in an unfamiliar place.

“Where is my aid needed?” Eric asked them, leaning back in his seat. 

Smitty hesitated before answering. “Well...we’re attempting to reach the Northern Fane in Grentor. For this, we’d have to trek through Brundirth, and I’m sure a knight of... _previous_ high standing such as yours would know how possible that is. And so, we thought of the great feat you’ve accomplished before, and…” 

Eric’s face fell, his demeanor becoming sullen and somewhat depressive. In between the silence, he laid his sword across the table, seemingly unable to hold it in his hand much longer. John shifted where he stood. Sir Eric knew exactly what they were about to ask of him, and spoke before Smitty did. “There are few things worth crossing that pass for, and whether the Northern Fane is one of those things is debatable.”

John let out a sigh through his nose, looking at his feet as he scrambled to gather his fleeting hope. He should have known this was coming, he thought to himself; he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up on a hopeless case. He could feel Jay tense next to him, hand gripped even tighter around his sword’s handle than it had before. He saw Smitty’s back straighten in front of him, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his trousers.

“My good Sir Eric, I’ve never been a begging creature,” Smitty pled, his voice growing tense yet sincere. “but the fate of the entire world is at stake. I’m sure you’ve already noticed the epidemic overcoming our planet, and our only hope at saving it is to bargain with the Gods. Our deathwish resides in Brundirth, but with your strength and achievement, you have left a spark of hope in the very pass you crossed.”

The look of sorrow Sir Eric gave them seemed to hold an eternity of anguish within it. He held the aura of a defeated man, devoid of purpose. He held his soul on his sleeve, and John could practically feel his pain- and for the first time in their plans, he considered just what Sir Eric had seen in Arathian’s Pass.

“If you are not to join us, can you tell us how you made it through, at the very least?” Jay inclined. Eric sighed in reply, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

He was silent for a long moment before he replied: “To cross that pass, I needed only a horse, a dragon, and my dragon’s tongue.” Eric said solemnly. It was a lost cause, John knew, and it had been from the start. “For this, I do not believe you will be able to cross on your own.” The exiled knight swallowed, shaking his head to himself as his eyes locked with the table. “My dragon took to the skies to distract the beast Arathius and put her life on the line in my name, while I rode around the pit’s edge to reach the other side.”

The knight looked up to face them with a grave look, his eyes bounding between the three. “There is no bargaining with that beast, and there is no ending it. That pass means certain death, whether at the tendrils of Arathius or at the lava that spews from His jaws from the bottom of the pit. After all these years, I still believe my existence was spared by nothing but chance.

“When the Death God Arathian burrowed that pit in the early years of time, he intended for nothing to live through it to tell the tale. His brother and foil, the God Velios, had tried to steal Arathian’s treasures in hopes to woo the Goddess Fraysia. When he hid his treasures in the planet’s crust, he created a monstrosity that could tear the heavens in two just to guard it, knowing it would be too powerful for a single God to destroy, even if that being was the King of Gods Himself.” 

Eric, leaned his elbows forward onto the table, hands clasping in front of him as he came to his conclusion: “It was purely by fate and my incentive that I made it out alive.”

Next to John, Jay let the tip of his blade rest against the ground, his empty fist clenching and loosening continuously by his side. “Your ‘incentive’ is the Great King Fitz.” It was not a question nor an assumption, merely a fact. From Jay’s tone, that much was undeniably clear, as odd as the statement was. “Am I correct about that?”

A heavy silence befell them for a good few seconds before Eric leaned back in his chair again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes.”

Jay approached the table, laying his sword upon it next to Eric’s. The knight gave him a questioning look as Jay laid his palms upon the table, leaning forward. “I last spoke to His Majesty when I briefly served as a guardsman for King Tandolm of Grentor during a peace meeting between them some few years ago. They spoke of you, and while His Majesty had said you resided here in Wrenomya, he’d also told us that he wished of your return to Feradonia.” Eric’s eyes widened, staring at Jay as if he’d seen a ghost. “He believes you’d abandoned him when you’d left for Vale without fulfilling your promised return.”

“I would _never_.” Eric was quick to retort, his expression bearing anger with his sorrow as he clenched his jaw. John watched with a million questions on his mind, but knew that it most certainly wasn’t the time to be curious. “Does- does he truly still wish to see me, even after four years?”

“He believes you don’t wish to speak with him again.” Jay informed him, his voice clouded with emotion. “Never have I seen a monarch grow so troubled at the mention of a name. In all my honestly, I tell you now, no monarch I’ve had the honor of meeting has ever yearned for another as much as the High King Fitz does for you.”

John watched the scene unfold, seeing Jay’s fingers nearly claw into the table as Eric’s eyes grew wet with tears. He hadn’t been surprised that Sir Eric knew King Fitz in the slightest, but he hadn’t suspected that a Valian knight and the Ruler of Elves had been so close. It was an odd friendship, he thought, since a human life was but a blink of the eye to an elf, but he had no right to question it. He’d never even seen an elf in the flesh.

Eric swallowed, his eyes scanning the table as if he’d find answers there. “Even if I were to go...my dragon has long since been gone since the days of my knighthood.”

John was sure they’d all froze in that moment, stunned. “Huh?” He found himself uttering. 

Eric cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “After I’d bought this house after fleeing from Vale, I knew she wouldn’t want to hang around my house like a pet, and so I told her that she was free to pursue the life of freedom I’d taken her from when I tamed her…” He shook his head to himself. “When I last saw her two years ago, she bore eggs in her belly, and I knew she’d found herself a mate and moved on, so...I never bothered her, as much as it killed me.” 

“Perhaps it is not my place to ask this of you,” Jay began. “but do you not bear the Horn of Drake?” 

“The Horn of what?” Smitty questioned, and John jumped to answer him, recalling the tales he’d been told as a child.

“The Horn of Drake, the beckoning horn forged by ancient peoples bearing the dragon’s tongue,” John informed him. “It can call for dragons from hundreds of miles away.” 

Eric’s brow furrowed in his own worries. “But even if I am to use it, who’s to say she’ll come?”

Jay sat himself slowly onto the edge of the table, his hand reaching up to tug at the tight collar of his top. “I can tell you’re a man of great self-doubt, my good sir,” Jay told him. “but did that doubt keep you from becoming one of the most esteemed knights in Valian history?” Eric looked up at him, his sorrow beginning to dissipate. “Why should that doubt stop you now?”

Eric looked downward in thought, biting his lip before he replied: “Give me time to decide. I haven’t been able to sleep quite right since I last travelled through Arathian’s Pass, but…” The heavy feeling in John’s chest began to soften. He was at least considering going with them. “With what lies beyond the pass, it may just be worth going for.”

Eric offered them his two spare bedrooms soon after, inquiring that they must have been worn out from how far they’d travelled to reach him. Smitty insisted that he was no longer tired and didn’t require sleep, and urged Jay and John to take the rooms for themselves. John didn’t have the heart to argue with him, and besides that, the beds most certainly looked comfortable.

That evening, Eric cooked a plentiful supper for them, and formalities were quickly dropped between the four of them. Eric was no longer a ‘Sir,’ and Smitius was just ‘Smitty.’ It was odd how fast they grew comfortable in Eric’s presence, and by the time the sun began to set below the horizon, they talked as if they’d known each other for years. 

They told their host of their journey so far, how they’d just narrowly escaped Princess Bordia’s forces, and how the centaurs had been gracious enough to deliver them their aid. Although Eric spoke very little of the princess upon her mention, he boasted with kind about the centaurs, and inquired them about Raylon and his partner’s well-beings, as well as that of Hespion. 

As the energy died down at the table, Jay asked a question that had been lingering about the three of them since it had been mentioned before: why had Eric been exiled from Vale? Surprisingly, the knight wasn’t too hesitant to answer, only propping his boots up on his table as he spoke. 

“I last left Feradonia when I’d received word from King Wilfor that I had a new mission to fulfill in his name. I was to go to Brundirth to try and make peace with the dwarves in hopes that they would soon follow to make peace with the other races, as well.” Eric downed the rest of his alcohol and set the pint gently back onto the table. “Little did I know, Wilfor had been trying to rid of me for years, as I posed a threat to his authority with the power and influence my dragon and I wielded together.

“So I went to Brundirth to bargain with their queen, and she told me that the only way to win her favor was to slay a beast in her name. I asked what beast she had set her sights on, and…” Eric shook his head to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “...she wished for me to slay Vivian to prove my dedication to the cause.”

“Vivian-” John inquired. “-your dragon?”

“Aye,” Eric agreed. “and for that, I refused. I narrowly escaped her forces after I had turned down her offer and returned to Vale to rightfully accuse Wilfor of conspiring against me. I told him that he had sent me knowing I would have brought shame to my name and my kingdom, and for the accusations and shame he had indirectly bestowed upon my head, he exiled me.”

“He had it all planned out from the start,” Jay spoke, more of his own afterthought than anything. “and that is when you escaped to Wrenomya?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.” 

That night, as John was retiring to his room, he found Jay’s door slightly ajar. Recalling the tattoo he’d seen earlier, he made the quick yet possibly idiotic decision to knock. Jay gave a low “come in,” and John’s feet moved hesitantly into the room. Jay was sat at the edge of the bed, his sword resting on his lap as he sharpened one of the blades.

Perhaps sensing something was off, Jay ceased his actions and put the sword behind him on the bed. “Come, sit. What’s on your mind?”

John sighed through his nose as he complied, wringing his hands in his lap as he took his spot next to Jay. He spoke softly, unsure. “That marking you have on your wrist…” He began, and he heard Jay swallow next to him. The man pulled down his sleeve slowly to reveal his tattoo as he had earlier. “...you’re from the Wolfhouse?”

“Well, aren’t most assassins?” Jay spoke, mayhap trying to sound humorous but his voice only drowning in sorrow. He paused briefly before continuing. “I, ah...I wasn’t born there, like a lot of the others. I was scouted at the age of seven.” John looked to where Jay was rubbing his thumb softly over the tattoo, and it seemed he was just as hesitant to tell him as John was to ask him of it.

“You can tell me, I’ll listen.” John offered. Next to him, Jay shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you sure? It’s not the happiest of tales, you know.”

“I’ve been in the gutters, too,” John consoled him. “Most definitely not the same gutter, but I know where you’re coming from. It won’t hurt me.”

Jay gave him an anxious glance before sighing, his shoulders slouching. “I’ve never known who my father was, nor did my mother, really. She was a prostitute.” When Jay fell silent, John bumped his knee gently against his, urging him to continue. “She fell ill one day, and the doctors refused to even examine her with the profession she held. And, when she passed...I was left to fend for myself on the streets.”

Jay swallowed again. “The Prime Wolf saw me and took pity on me, and promised me a life of prosperity if I agreed to train and serve beneath him. I took his offer, and from that day, he trained me among his other unwilling students to become murderous dolls to serve any who were willing to pay the price. 

“At the Wolfhouse, their goal is to break you enough to be unable to make your own decisions, and to leave you with nothing more than a thirst to obey and shed blood in another’s name...but I held on, as much as it cost me.” Jay rubbed his eyes, leaving tears to soak through his sleeves. “I excelled if only to spend less time there than I had to, and for an entire decade, I pretended to be the doll they struggled to form others into. I learned all the ways to kill and survive, and by the day I turned eighteen, I was being hired by King Wilfor to do his dirty work.”

Jay crossed his arms with a hunched back, leaning as if he were protecting his gut. His leg gently pushed back against John’s, but without intent to push his away. “They stripped me of my name and branded me with a new one, as well as their crest as sign of their ownership of me. For a while, they had taught me relentless hatred, but…” He shook his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. “I thought about how far hate would get me, and I turned myself around. I continued my job as an assassin, and began to regret every life I took, but it made me no less of a good man. I freed all I could from the Wolfhouse in hopes they wouldn’t have to become what I had, and every earning I received, I shared the profits with those who needed it more than I did. I led two lives-” Jay turned to him, his expression solemn but one of kind. “-and in the end, I chose one over the other when I joined you and Smitius on your journey.”

Hesitantly, John reached up to place his hand on Jay’s shoulder, and for another few long moments, they only sat in a comfortable silence. He’d known Jay was a kind man, but he’d never considered that an assassin could be a good one. Before, he hadn’t considered just how kind of a man Jay actually was, nor how odd it was with someone of his profession, but he was beginning to understand.

Eventually, they bid each other a good night, and John made his way to his designated room. When he got there, he found Smitty sitting by the open window, his entire being bleeding elegance and serenity under the light of the moon. His wings were aglow as they had been many nights before, dripping in the small glitters of his magic, casting a faint azure glow around them. John was left in awe of the sight, hardly able to move from the doorway.

“You took a while,” Smitty noticed, his eyes trained onto the distance beyond the window. “What kept you occupied?”

John cleared his throat, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “I was just talking with Jay about that marking on his arm. Learned a few things.”

“Oh, like what?” Smitty inclined as John sat on the edge of the bed, unstrapping his boots.

“Ah, I think you’d best hear it from Jay himself. It’s not my place to tell.” Smitty hummed but didn’t say anything more about it, still gazing out the window. John eyed him curiously as he removed his belt, laying it with his sheath by his boots on the floor. 

He climbed into bed and landed with a groan, pulling the covers up around himself. For a moment, they sat in a comfortable silence, until John spoke up. “Your wings are glowing, again. They haven’t done that for a few nights.”

“I’ve got my energy back. The magic is slowly returning to me.” Smitty spoke softly, his voice holding an odd sincerity to it, as if the air around them were made of glass and he feared to shatter it.

John let his eyes linger on Smitty’s form. “What are you looking at?” 

Smitty bit his lip briefly, thinking. “I can sense something, out there towards the mountains.” John turned onto his side, still gazing at the fairy. He found himself unable to look away. “It’s not human, nor is it anything I’ve experienced in a great deal of time.”

“Do you know what it is, then?” John nearly whispered with how gentle his voice was. His eyes raked along Smitty’s body, every strand of hair, the soft edge of his jaw, the elegant curve of his lips. Why couldn’t he tear his eyes away, he pled to himself? “Is it dangerous?”

“I feel that it could be dangerous if it wanted to, but...it feels like it’s happy where it is. It doesn’t feel any threat.” Smitty’s wings fluttered slowly, but the rest of his body remained still. John concluded that his wings said anything his lips wouldn’t. “A gentle giant, with the gargantuan jaws of destruction, and a heart of glistening gold.” The fairy smiled to himself, and John felt his heart began to race. “Rather odd, don’t you think?”

He snuggled further into the sheets, feeling the call of slumber beckoning him away. “Exceedingly.”

~#~

John awoke before the sunrise to find an empty chair by the window, and no other presence in the room as if he’d been the only one there to begin with. A strange feeling of disappointment panged in his chest before he arose and slipped on his boots and belt. He went to the mirror across the room to try and make himself presentable, only to find that his hair was tangled and greasy from neglection of a shower. He noticed, after many days, he also didn’t smell good in the least- and prayed Eric may be kind enough to lend him his tub.

He made his way downstairs in search of Smitty, not sure what he would find. When he reached the kitchen, Eric was already sat at the table with his two companions, a large horn resting upon the tabletop. He stopped in his tracks, feeling his heart begin to pound. He’d heard the tale of that horn since he was a child; it was so oddly exciting to see it in the flesh.

“Good news, John,” Jay spoke, kicking out a chair on the empty side of the table to beckon him forth. “we’ve got a fourth member of the company.”

John couldn’t rid the smile from his face, stepping forward to offer his hand to the knight. Eric took it in kind, smiling back up at him, though seeming somewhat timid. “That’s fantastic! Your aid to the cause will be forever appreciated.”

John sat in the empty chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. Smitty sat across from him, looking between Eric and the horn with an expectant look. Jay seemed to be doing the same, but Eric’s eyes never left the item before them. 

“So…” John began, wringing his hands together. “...what happens now?”

Silently, Eric looked to the window, giving an anxious sigh through his nose. Jay leaned forward, his brows furrowed when he spoke. “You’re worrying again,” He stated. “She’ll come. We all know she will.”

“But will she wish to stay?” Eric pondered aloud. John could feel the doubt seeping through his voice. 

Jay only stood, walking around the table to gently grab Eric by the arm and help him to his feet. Eric didn’t resist, and took the horn when it was offered to him by Jay. “Come,” Jay said, “It’s time.”

Jay led Eric to the door and, as John and Smitty looked to each other, they quickly followed in suit. Smitty was quick to fit his wings out the door, but turned and waited for John to be by his side before they followed the other two in their company. They were led to the back of the house, where Eric stepped forward ahead of them with the horn hanging from his hand at his side. John eyed him curiously, and suddenly noticed the first streaks of color that were expanding in the sky.

Eric raised the horn hesitantly to his lips, and several moments of silence passed between them. It seemed as if the entire world had its eyes on Eric; the birds ceased their melodies, the insects quieted their buzzing, and the small critters of the open plains stopped in their tracks to watch the scene unfold. The remnants of the night’s mist settled into dew upon the earth while the fog still hovered over the horizon in the distance. Only the wind passed around them, filling the silence with its caress, urging them _onward_.

The horn sounded, and engulfed them like a tsunami. Its call echoed and rolled like gargantuan waves, and the world remained still under its deafening cry. The sky grew brighter and brighter still as orange splattered the remnants of the stars and the moon among them, washing them away as the sun peeked over the horizon. The tall grasses swayed with its tune, one with the air and the song vibrating through it. 

And, suddenly, like an echo to the horn’s call, a thunderous roar pushed back against the song, distant but growing steadily closer. It was the call of a most mighty beast, menacing and low, but it held the familiar cry of want and need, beckoned by the horn’s melody as it began to grow near. And even as the horn ceased in its song, the cries only grew louder, and as the sky became a vast array of prodigious hues, a figure appeared over the distant mountains, a world away yet nearing closer still. And with the figure appeared another, and another still, until suddenly, it was followed by a flock in the sky.

The horn fell to Eric’s side before it slipped from his grasp altogether, landing onto the grass with a soft thud. No man present was able to tear their eye from the distance, solid to the very core, unmoving. The figures grew closer and took shape of birds, then beasts, then _dragons_.

While John took an unconscious step back, Eric only moved forward, his legs moving faster than his mind could process. Through the open fields he ran, closer and closer, faster and faster, until the first dragon made her swift landing far away but only continued her relentless pace on foot, her tail lashing behind her as her mighty wings began to spread.

The dragon fell to her belly as Eric collided with her leg, wrapping his arms around it so tight he may as well have pinned her to the earth, and together they wept, the dragon raising her snout to the endless sky and opening her jaws to let out a roar that shook Erestia to its very core. She was a mighty beast indeed, her scales a glistening ruby red with teeth sharper than blades, her eyes a golden inferno. Her claws were a pearl white, digging into the soil with her cries of joy, and her tail stretched to a whip-like end, beating against the ground. Both her wings were twice the size of her body, the stems muscled with webs seeming as tough as leather, battered but unbroken. 

She was a mountainous monster of forbidden beauty, but in that moment, she was nothing but a weeping creature long-too-gone from her closest friend. 

The other dragons landed around her, each the same hue but one a significantly larger size than the rest. Even still, he was not nearly as sturdily built as her, and not nearly as staggering. They all gathered around their leader, moaning and crying as they bumped their snouts into her, eyeing Eric curiously as he only buried his tears deeper into the dragon’s scales. 

John found himself rushing forward to meet them, straight into the unknown without thinking, and by the steps he could hear in the grass behind him, he knew Jay and Smitty were on the same path. He counted six dragons in all, each alike but so very unique. Some turned their gazes to the oncoming mortals but didn’t pay any mind, only continuing to coddle about the dragon he assumed to be Vivian. 

When Eric finally stood to look up to his dragon, John began to understand just how large Vivian really was. On her feet, he was just a bit taller than Eric’s house, and loomed over her rider yet posed no threat to him. John stopped just a few meters behind Eric to watch him raise his hand upward, placing it on the edge of the dragon’s snout, his hand merely the size of a single scale. It was the way Vivian looked at him, however, that nearly brought him to tears.

John could feel the anguish both of them had suffered over the years of their separation, and he was now in the midst of their joyous reconciliation. Vivian’s eyes told a story all in themselves, and John was sure he would need nothing more to understand their pain.

“You’ve done well, my dear Vivian,” Eric called up to her, choking on his words. “I never could have imagined you’d raise such a beautiful pack!” Vivian seemed to hum in response, her wings stretching briefly at her side. Her tail wrapped around that of the male’s, growling as she spoke with distinct clicks emitting from her throat. Eric’s voice broke as he replied: “And you’ve found a fine mate!”

Smitty found John’s side, wings fluttering behind him as they stood in silence. There was something so melancholic about it all, yet it all seemed so joyously natural. He found himself unwilling to say anything to ruin the moment; he’d almost turned around and gone back altogether to give Eric privacy with his dragon and her family, but the knight instead turned to speak to them. 

“This is my closest comrade Vivian and her family,” Eric introduced them, never moving his hand from her snout. He extended an arm towards them as an indicative gesture. “Vivian, this is my newfound company. The four of us only met yesterday, but…” The dragon huffed, her eyes briefly falling closed under his touch. “...we have a new mission, my dear- that is, if you’re willing.”

One of Vivian’s children sprang forward and kneeled before Eric like an excited puppy, tail lashing behind her as her eyes pleaded to the human. The sound she made was nearly a low whine, and her siblings were quick to do the same as they crowded around their mother. 

“Come with us?” Eric repeated for them. He was crying at that point, but a smile still showed clear on his face, seeming to stretch from ear to ear. John nearly felt like crying at the sight of it. “Well, I believe that decision is up to your mother!”

The young dragons crowded their mother once more, pleading to her with low whines while their father merely fell to lie upon his belly and watch. Eric turned to them, wiping the tears from his face as he approached. 

“I apologize,” He told them. “It’s not like me to get emotional.”

“It’s quite understandable, I promise you.” Smitty replied, still gazing up at the dragons. Vivian’s four offspring weren’t yet quite her size, but still managed to shake the ground as they bounded about with energy. As grown as they looked, they very much still resembled children with their somewhat adolescent personalities. “I haven’t laid eyes upon the wonder of dragons in centuries; they truly are the rarest gems of Erestia.”

Vivian nudged Eric with her snout, nearly sending the man toppling over, and made a series of low noises in her throat to speak. Eric looked back up to her, smiling even still. “She says she’ll bring her family along, just to keep us all safe,” He relayed to them. “but she won’t have any of it if there isn’t enough food for her growing babies.”

“Didn’t you say she was carrying them in her womb just two years ago?” Jay questioned. “Is this not a different roost?”

“No, this is the very same,” Eric clarified. John’s brow furrowed, his mouth falling slightly agape as he looked up at the dragons’ immense sizes, stunned. “but these are dragons of the mountains; it’s in their nature to grow very large very quickly, but as you can tell…” He gestured to Vivian’s offspring, the latter rolling about the ground or chasing each other’s tails in boredom. “...they certainly don’t mature as fast.”

Yes, John had most certainly been right, he knew. “Home” truly was those closest to someone. And, as he considered it, he knew the same thing could be said about family.

~#~

“We have a slight issue!” Eric called from within the cellar, appearing at the bottom of the steps. Vivian stood behind them, perhaps a little too close for comfort, in John’s humble opinion. He still wasn’t quite used to the sheer size of Eric’s dragon. “Vivian, dearest, we never got your saddle mended after that last run-in!”

Vivian growled behind him, and John felt the intimidation from it at his very core. Eric, however, didn’t seem too bothered by it, only giving her a remorseful look. “Well, sue me for assuming we’d ever need to use it again!” She growled once more, but this time with a puff of grey smoke emitting from her nose. John began to cough as it quickly filtered through his lungs. “Oh, just help me get it out of here, would you?!”

Eric emerged from the cellar and gestured for them to move out of the way for Vivian. The dragon turned around and reached down into the cellar with her tail, soon wrapping around a piece and dragging it up the stone steps. The saddle itself was large and built sturdily of leather with thick straps to tie it to its wearer, but all about its structure were large gashes and holes. It certainly looked like it had seen better days.

The dragon unwound her tail from the saddle and looked to Eric expectantly, in which the man only sighed as he scratched his beard. “We’re gonna have to take it to Bianca.”

“Bianca?” John questioned, the woman they’d seen the day before coming into mind.

“She’s the blacksmith in town, but she’s also a tanner. I’m just wondering if she’ll take on a job this far out of her profession…”

“I believe we ran into her yesterday afternoon when we seeked directions.” Jay piped up. “She said she wished for you to pay her a visit soon, my good Sir Eric.”

Smitty put his hands on his hips with a nod. “Yes, I do believe she did, now that I recall…” 

Eric raised his brow at that before letting out another sigh, gesturing to the saddle towards Vivian. “I suppose we shall, then. Come, Vivian, saddle up! No time to lose!”

Vivian gave another playful growl before wrapping her tail around the entire saddle and lifting it to place it upon her back. She adjusted the straps to hang at her side but Eric didn’t bother clasping them at her belly, telling them that the saddle wasn’t fit for flying, and that they “may as well fly without strapping themselves in at all,” so Vivian would have to walk with them into town to get it repaired.

They’d just finished talking out their plan over lunch, deciding that, if Vivian’s family had to come along, they would have to take the same place as her as bait. Eric had told them that having just one dragon as bait to get four people across the pass was certain death, and that Arathius would have one of his many tendrils already wrapped around them the second they stepped foot near his pit. They would be in need of a much larger distraction and, although hesitant, Vivian agreed.

And so, with a plan set, Eric had gone to fetch Vivian’s saddle while her children went hunting with her mate staying behind. However, upon discovery, they had found the saddle in shambles, and having nothing better to do, John, Smitty and Jay then agreed to tag along. John hadn’t been very prepared when Vivian wrapped her tail around his middle and lifted him off his feet, placing him gently down on the saddle with Smitty to follow.

The saddle itself was exceedingly spacious and looked as if it could hold a party, but Eric explained from below that it only had enough straps to secure one person to it, and if it were to hold any more, the riders’ heads would be knocking together in the air. Upon hearing this, John began to reconsider whether dragonback riding was as fun as he had thought it was as a kid.

Eric and Jay were lifted onto the bare back of the other dragon, and just as quick as they had came, they were off again, back to the town they had previously trekked through. Behind John, Smitty was turned in the other direction, gazing out at the path they had already walked instead of what lie before them. His shoulders were slouched, and his wings fluttered lightly every now and again. He seemed...comfortable, John concluded. It occurred to him, then, that he’d rarely seen Smitty without that stiff posture of his (when he wasn’t unconscious, of course). It was a good change, John thought to himself.

Smitty eventually turned around as they neared the town, sliding closer to him as he looked over John’s shoulder. As they walked through the first of the widened streets, the people below looked up to them with bewildered expressions but no fear in the slightest, and quickly moved themselves out of the way to make room. Some called up to Eric and bid him a “good day,” as well as “it’s been a long while, my dear sir!” They weren’t frightened of Eric, nor in the least bit the same of his dragons, and only went about their business as Eric went about his.

The blacksmith was already standing outside of her shop when they approached, waiting with amusement showing clear in her features. Vivian’s mate kneeled for Eric to slide quickly down his side, his movements languid and practiced. As Vivian reached upward with her tail to gently pluck John and Smitty from her back, Eric practically ran to the blacksmith, embracing her happily despite the grime that covered her body. 

“Well, then,” The woman spoke, pulling away and looking up at the large beasts before her. “You didn’t tell me you had two dragons, Eric.”

“I, er,” Eric turned to look up at them as well, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. “I actually appear to have six, as of late.”

The blacksmith gave a low whistle, wiping her dirtied hands on the cloth hanging at her belt. Her eyes found John’s, and she nodded to them. “Nice to see you gentlemen again, as well.” 

“A pleasure,” Jay called back, leaning against the male dragon’s leg. He didn’t seem to mind.

Eric cleared his throat, placing his hand on the blacksmith’s shoulder. Smitty placed his hand on the small of John’s back and guided him towards the pair. John oddly felt his cheeks grow hot at the touch. “Jay, John, Great Smitius, this is my good friend Bianca. Bianca, this is...my new company.”

“Company?” Bianca inquired, crossing her arms over her chest. “And just where are you off to with your new company, Eric?”

Eric’s face fell suddenly, and the air grew thick as he looked nervously to his feet. Bianca’s eyes grew wide for a moment before her shoulders fell with a sigh. Her voice was soft when she spoke, if not sullen: “You’re going through that pass again, aren’t you?” He didn’t have to nod for Bianca to read her conclusion. “No wonder you summoned Vivian after so long. And it seems she went out and got herself a family, if you’re hauling around six dragons, now.”

The air grew lighter when Eric huffed in a laugh, raising his head to meet her eye. Everything about his demeanor seemed somewhat melancholic, but his eyes were budding happiness. “I’ve got someone waiting across the pass, you know.”

“Oh, I’m no stranger to that story.” She inclined, her eyes raising to gaze up at Vivian’s mate once more. “What’s his name, then?” She turned to Eric expectantly, changing the subject as she gestured to the dragon. Eric shrugged, shaking his head.

“I haven’t named him, yet. I don’t even know if a wild bull like him would take one. I raised Vivian from her hatching, so it was easy naming her, but…” The male folded one front leg over the other and sat, puffing smoke through his nose with an expectant look. Eric sighed as he shook his head. “It seems he’ll take one, then.”

“Well, we can worry about that later. Now, about that there saddle-” Bianca nodded to the saddle on Vivian’s back, squinting up at it. “-I suppose you brought it here for me to fix?”

“If you would be so kind.” Eric gave her an apologetic look. “I’ll pay twice the normal amount, just because this is so far from your line of work.”

“You won’t be paying me a damn cent!” Bianca proclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll be damned if I charge you anything if this is the last time I see you!” She diverted her attention to the dragon, taking steps toward her. “Vivian, darling, would you be so kind as to set your saddle down here for me?”

Vivian plucked the saddle from her back with her tail and set it in front of the blacksmithery, nearly hitting three other nearby businesses in the process. Bianca climbed to the top of the saddle and put her hands back on her hips, looking around at the damage. It only took her a few moments to come to a conclusion.

“There’s a lot of damage, but none of it is too terrible, save for that there slash…” She kicked her foot in the direction of the large cut running through the side of the saddle. “...it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a few extra sets of hands.”

And so, without really volunteering, they spent the rest of the day working relentlessly to fix the saddle, John stabbing his own hands on numerous occasions with the sewing needle as he mended the smaller holes and cuts. To his own surprise, Smitty knew a great deal about sewing and leatherwork, and didn’t hesitate to help John finish all of the little jobs he’d been assigned by Bianca. He found the work to be rather soothing when he did it with Smitty, and found his hands moving much faster under his eye. 

Bianca declared the job finished as the skies erupted into their sea of color, the sun halfway down the horizon. Vivian lifted her saddle once more upon her back and, unlike before, Eric completed all the necessary strapping upon it, binding it tightly to the dragon. Vivian didn’t seem to mind, and rather puffed out her chest in pride as she wore it like a medal, a symbol of strength and pride. John just about missed the look Eric gave her, nearly teary-eyed with a slight yet proud grin. There was some emotion in it he couldn’t quite explain.

Eric and Bianca shared one final embrace, this one lasting much longer, and bearing words they left unsaid. It had only then hit John that these two had probably known each other for years, and that it may as well have been the last they see of each other, whether Eric made it through Arathian’s Pass or not. The feeling felt all too familiar.

Bianca briefly wiped her eyes when she pulled away, giving Eric a sorrowful smile. “I hope you two find each other again,” She spoke, sniffing. “I truly do. You two have been apart for far too long.”

John listened with bewildered interest as Eric replied. “You know how quickly time passes for elves. He probably feels it’s only been a day since I left.”

“Don’t be so sure of that, darling.” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly as she bit her lip. She looked back up at Vivian, tilting her head with intrigue. “Say, how many hatchlings were there, again?”

“Oh,” Eric wiped his eyes, clearing his throat. “Four. Three girls and a boy.” 

“Three girls…” Bianca repeated, a grin stretching across her face. “Perhaps you could name them after Sylvess’ Trifecta.” 

“The Moon Goddess?” Jay questioned, leaning on his sword with one end stabbed into the dirt. “I’ve never heard of her “Trifecta.””

“They were the first hatchlings Sylvess birthed before the Gods were sent to live in the heavens.” Smitty informed. “You already know, She grew lonely at nightfall when She took to the skies and her Sister of the Sun Xylavess went to sleep, and so She began birthing the Divine Dragons of the Moon. Her first three were Varia, Maysia and Celest, three of the most divine dragons, let alone beasts, to have ever existed.”

“When the Gods were sent to the heavens,” Eric piped in. “Sylvess was allowed by Velios to take her first hatchlings with Her, and had immortality granted to Them by Velios, as well.” 

Jay patted the leg of Vivian’s mate, smiling up at him. The dragon huffed back, but John felt that it was in kind. They seemed to like each other very much, especially considering they had just met that morning. “Well, it’ll be an honor to name them after such divine beings, then. And what of Vivian’s mate and her young bull?” 

“I’m not certain,” Bianca admitted. “but I’m sure something will come to you along the way.” Her hand fell from Eric’s shoulder, but her smile still remained. John briefly considered just how close Eric and Bianca were, or rather, had been in the past. It didn’t quite seem like an average friendship, but he decided not to worry himself over it. “Good things take time, as they say.”

Smitty and John were placed back on Vivian’s saddle, and this time, John had reins to hold onto. The reins steered from her neck rather than having a bar in her mouth like a horse would, and he assumed it was to make way for the fire she bellowed. If what he’d learned from the tales of his childhood was correct, a dragon’s fire could melt right through anything it put between its jaws, so perhaps it was for the best.

With one final bid goodbye, they set off towards Eric’s home once more, headed into the far horizon. Vivian’s children were waiting at the house when they arrived, lounging around with stuffed bellies and far too much time in their talons. They bound to their parents’ sides upon their arrival, crowding around excitedly as their riders dismounted.

As they headed indoors, John could hear their playful growls from outside, and assumed he’d be hearing it all night with how restless the young dragons were. Eric fetched the basin to give them time to bathe, telling them that they ought to be in their best conditions for the journey ahead. John wasn’t going to complain- especially when he stepped foot in the first real bath he’d had in weeks.

They ate their dinner and retired to their rooms, and when John went to his own, he found Smitty once again sat by his window, gazing out at the star-veiled yonder, hands folded in his lap. They had both been dressed in nightshirts while they waited for their other clothes to dry, and while their nightshirts were the exact same, Smitty seemed to don his own with godlike elegance. His wings, once again, dripped in glimmers of magic, fading into nothingness before they ever hit the ground. They cast their pale, blue glow over Smitty’s skin, and it all seemed to natural, so utterly familiar to him. 

Of all the words John could have used to describe Smitty, his mind could only settle on one: _beautiful_.

“You should sleep,” John told him as he slipped beneath the covers, his voice just as it had been the night before. “get all the energy you can.”

He expected Smitty to decline his offer, but the fairy instead stood and walked the short distance to the bed, crawling beneath the covers and landing gently upon his stomach. John scooted closer to the edge to give him room, even with the bed’s generous size. Smitty wasted no time in closing his eyes, and after just a few minutes, John was certain Smitty had already fallen asleep. He was proven wrong, however, when Smitty’s wing moved to cover John, the other hanging off the edge of the bed.

John would have thought Smitty was moving in his sleep had the fairy not opened his eyes, giving him an anxious look, wordlessly asking for permission. John only embraced it with a slight smile. Smitty did the same and closed his eyes once more, his head digging into the soft pillow below him.

John slid closer, his body turned towards Smitty’s as he dozed off into a dreamless slumber. It was the first night he had found peace in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha HA!!!! foolish FOOLS!!!! you thought there was only one dragon, but there are MANY dragons!!!!! ha HA!!!!!!!! this chapter was honestly so fun to write, all 10k words of it, and I've just been so excited to introduce Eric and all his BBDs (big beautiful dragons)!!!!!!
> 
> if yall havent noticed, the mythology in this story is absolutely batshit crazy, just like any other religion tbh. a goddess brithing dragons probably isnt the weirdest mythological tale youve heard (at least, not when you compare it to Loki giving birth to an eight-legged horse. that shit's just ridiculous). there are also many kinds of dragons albeit there aren't many left. vivian, her mate and her kids are all mountainous dragons, and Sylvess' kids are all divine moon dragons (which youll be seeing more of soon, wink wink). in summary, i just fuckin love dragons
> 
> some things got out in the open this chapter, like jay's past (my poor baby, why did i have to make your life so miserable) as well as eric's (his is just as bad, why do i do this to myself). with what ive planned so far, im really exicted for you guys to read about what's gonna happen to their characters in the future!!!! and notice how johns gettin some gay feels but doesnt realize it yet. if it hurts for yall to read, dont worry, it hurts every time i write and just want them to fucking KISS ALREADY but this is slow burn so we cant do that r.i.p
> 
> also, go listen to both of the songs i linked, if you can!!! i chose dragon rider to be the theme, not just because it makes sense, but also because i felt the song really just reflects how i designed eric's character, if that makes sense??? it's not the traditional fantasy piece, but then again, eric isn't really that much of a traditional fantasy character, all things considered!!! and the second piece is just an absolute banger lmaO
> 
> thank you for all the kudos and all the wonderful feedback, i can't appreciate yall enough!!!!!


	7. El Dorado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "El Dorado" by Two Steps From Hell [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiB98Wbsdlo).
> 
> Additional Track: "[Protectors of the Earth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASj81daun5Q%22)" by Two Steps From Hell

When Eric had said that “everything gets loaded onto the saddle,” he hadn’t been exaggerating. By the time he’d declared the work done, all of the food in Eric’s house had been stuffed into bags and stuffed in the large pouches of the saddle’s side, strapped in securely with the company’s few belongings to follow. 

Eric himself had packed very few things for himself; a bag of clothes, a couple of ancient-looking books, and an ornate spear no one was willing to comment about. The spear itself was forged from shining silver, and the spearhead looked sharp enough to slice through even the toughest of dragon’s hide. It was engraved with wisp-like, intricate carvings that almost seemed anciently Valian, but the sheer perfection of the craftsmanship practically screamed to him in elvish. John wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a finer weapon with his own two eyes, as odd as it was.

Perhaps the most odd part, however, was what Jay said to him in a playful voice: “Now, where have you been hiding that away all these years, Sir Eric?”

“Back of the closet,” Eric replied, sliding the spear between one of the thick, tight straps at the edge of the saddle. 

Eric had placed his foot between a strap in the saddle to climb up the side when Jay spoke again, confusion tinting his words. “What about your armor?” 

The knight considered it with a sigh, unmoving, before shaking his head. “I’m not sure armor of such caliber is needed for a journey like this.” 

John’s first thought was of what he’d always imagined as a child; Sir Eric, a towering figure in armor of impenetrable steel, forged from the finest ores of Vale. His second thought was that, yes, Eric probably would need that armor in case Bordia found them before they reached Arathian’s Pass- and that was when it became apparent to him, that they had completely forgotten to tell Sir Eric of their little run-in’s with the princess. And, looking to Smitty, it seemed the fairy was having the same realization.

It went right over Jay’s head, however, as he only continued his talk of Eric’s glorious past. “It was forged from the Great King Fitz’ hand himself, and you wish to return to Feradonia without it in tow?”

Eric gave the thought a considerate look, facing out into the distant horizon before giving a nod so small John barely caught it. He jumped down from the saddle, giving Vivian a pay on her bare scales as he made his way to the house. Smitty sped towards him after a brief moment, his wings fluttering anxiously behind him as he went. Smitty met him in time by the door and placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder while the other extended to the doorway, and with a bewildered glance, they made their way inside.

It was another twenty minutes before they emerged once more, Eric sporting an armor much different than what John had previously recalled; It was armor of the highest caliber, shining with silver. It hugged his body like the metal gloves yet didn’t seem restrictive in the slightest, even as thick as it appeared. It was decorated with the same odd, elvish patterns as his spear, and looked just as powerfully brilliant. It seemed untouched, seemingly never soiled with dirt or blood in the slightest. 

But as gleaming as the armor was, its bearer only wore a blank look as he headed to his dragon, holding the grip of his hefty sword in the sheath at his hip. Smitty exited after him and only gave a nod, although he bore the same blank expression as Eric did. John took it as a sign that Eric was still on their side, despite what may have been yet to come. This time, John had no doubts that they could escape from Bordia’s clutches, seeing as how they now had six fire-breathing dragons and an esteemed knight on their side. 

Eric ran his gloved hands along Vivian’s scales as he made his way passed her, putting a couple of his free fingers in his mouth and blowing a whistle loud enough for John to hear from a ways away. The dragons were quick to come hither once more, the offspring folding their limbs beneath them while their father found their mother’s side. Eric stood before them, his chest puffed in pride, hand gripped tightly at his sword’s hilt.

He turned to the young male, stepping forward and reaching his hand up to pet his snout. The dragon’s eyes fell closed at the contact, pressing into his touch. “I’m afraid I’ve yet to find names for you and your father, little one,” He spoke, his voice low and earnest. “and I must apologize that your sisters have been named before you, but I can assure you, your day will come.”

Eric gave his snout a pat before he let it fall to his side, then making heavy steps through the tall grass to approach the sides of the females. He stood before them in silence for a few long moments before he drew his sword and held it towards the dragon to his left. She stepped forward slowly, kneeling as the blade then rested against her snout. 

“Your name shall be Varia, named from the Holy Dragoness of the Waves, Daughter of the Moon Goddess Sylvess.” The dragon slowly opened her eyes as Eric removed the sword, fierce yet determined and kind. She made way for her next sister, and just as Eric had done with Varia, he placed the blade flat on her snout. “Your name shall be Maysia, named from the Holy Dragoness of the Night, the second of the first nest of Sylvess.” 

Eric then turned to the last dragon, and unlike her sisters, she didn’t kneel, only spreading her large wings behind her as she leaned her head down. John noticed just how gargantuan her wings were compared to the rest of her family’s; even if she was a mere two years of age, her wings were at least as long as her father’s, and seemed powerful even more so. Eric seemed to take notice as well as he placed his sword on her snout.

“And you shall be named Celest, named from the Holy Dragoness of the Sky, the third daughter of the first hatching. With those wings of your’s, I have no doubt you will live up to her name.” She huffed in reply as she stepped back, tail lashing behind her as her sisters found her side. Eric only gazed up at them for a while before sheathing his sword, placing his hands on his hips. 

In a deep, prideful voice, he declared: “Sylvess’ Trifecta represented and embodied the three powers of the moon they served, and together, you three will serve each other, as well as the common goal to spread peace across Erestia.” Eric paused before swallowing. “You’re family. It’s your duty to depend on each other- and as much as you have to depend on your brother and your parents, you three are _sisters_. That makes you closest of all.” 

Eric took a few steps back before falling slowly to a knee before the dragons, unsheathing his sword to stab it into the ground with his hand resting on the hilt. He crossed his arm over his chest, head bowed. “And, if I may have the honor, I wish to seek the title of your pilot and partner.”

The sisters fell silent for a moment before Celest suddenly heeled, then throwing her head up into the air and letting out a roar so powerful it rumbled the ground beneath them. Her wings spread as she cried to the heavens, claws digging into the dirt. And, one by one, her sisters joined, then their brother, and finally, their parents. It should have been deafening, but as they swore their loyalty to their new partner, John could only hear music.

At John’s hip he felt a disturbance, and looking down, he saw Smitty wordlessly unsheathing his sword, then moving on swift feet towards the kneeling knight without an utterance. Eric soon looked up to see Smitty standing before him with the sword as the dragons’ cries drowned away and only bowed his head once more. John watched in bewilderment before Smitty placed the sword on Eric’s shoulder, lightly clanking against his armor.

“In the name of Velios, I, the Greenwood Fairy Smitius, Son of Mariava and Grandson of Fraysia, hereby recruit thee into the Company of the Fane’s Pursuit.” Smitty’s voice, just as it had when they first recruited Jay, turned deep and bellowy, like the bottom of a well. It seemed to echo through the blades of grass, stretching through the plain to the open yonder around them. John found himself ensnared by the sheer grasping power of it. “You shall accompany us through Arathian’s Pass, and if thou wishes, you shall accompany us no further.”

Eric remained still under the weight of his sword until Smitty gave a clear: “Rise.” 

He stood slowly, the sword falling from his shoulder as he sheathed his own once again. Smitty let the blade rest against his own shoulder as he gazed proudly upon the other. “Knighted Sir Eric of Wrenomya and Vale, Tamer of Dragons and Slayer of Beasts, you have done a great deed for the betterment of all Erestia. We warmly welcome you into our Company.” 

Eric crossed his arm over his chest, back straightening while his voice grew bold in determination. “It is my honor, my Great Smitius.”

On the walking backs of dragons, they set off just as quickly as they had came- this time, with even more precious cargo in tow. Smitty and John once again shared Vivian’s saddle while Eric and Jay took her mate’s bare back, settling in but keeping themselves ready to dismount at any given time in case of attack. John had argued that Eric should take his partner’s saddle instead of they, but Eric only told them that her mate was a much more difficult steed to manage, and as Jay had at least some idea of dragonriding, Eric gave his dragon to them for the journey.

As they traveled, John found himself inching closer to Smitty (or perhaps Smitty was inching closer to him), and even as the saddle itself was spacious, they still remained close enough to one another to bump knees and brush shoulders. As close as they were, the journey was mostly silent between them; however, the silence was rather comfortable- to John, at least- and there was something so pleasantly intimate about being able to just sit and stare off at nothing with Smitty. It was as if they had nothing better to do with their time than spend it together, and having so little to say they’d rather sit in a comfortable silence. John wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so welcomed by the quietness.

Around them, the young dragons bound about and played like newborn hatchlings, whipping each other gently with their tails and snapping their jaws without any real meaning. Every once and again, Vivian would growl when their playing became too rough- especially between the mischievous brother and the equally so Maysia. Their father would only look on, lashing his tail playfully back at his young when they lashed theirs towards him, joining in yet keeping the herd moving steadily on. 

There was something unsettling about the fact that the happiest family he’d ever seen took the form of dragons, but it brought him joy watching them, nonetheless.

Celest had just bared her teeth at her brother for smacking her a bit too hard before suddenly her body seized, and soon she spread her wings, growling into the direction behind them as her tail lashed wildly behind her. Vivian turned around as well, the low roar bubbling in her throat sending tremors through the saddle. As the rest of the family turned and copied their actions, John turned around to Eric, seeing the man listening intently.

“What is it?” John called. “What’s over there?”

Beside him, Smitty’s wings twitched before his head suddenly shot up, eyes wide. “Humans. A great number of them. I can’t tell how many.”

Beneath his breath, John uttered a single name: “Bordia.” 

Jay immediately stood, preparing the sword in his hand before sliding down the edge of the saddle. Eric stood as well, but didn’t draw his weapon. “Dismount, now! Celest, protect our guests at all costs!” 

Vivian had her tail wrapped around John before Eric finished his orders, lowering him to the ground, while Smitty jumped off the side, using his wings to fall gently. Even as his landing was somewhat heavy, he still seemed unfazed as he found John’s side. Together, they rushed to Celest, meeting Jay as they lingered close to her.

Eric rushed from Vivian’s mate to Vivian herself by running along her wing, wasting no time in strapping himself to the saddle. The sword at his side still remained untouched, and as John would soon discover, it was a sword he wouldn’t need at all.

Eric’s open hand shot upward and to his right, and from the large holster at the edge of the saddle, his spear appeared, flying to his hand. John watched in both awe and bewilderment, and looking to Smitty, it seemed he had no answers, either. Jay, however, only watched with the excitement of a child, hand clenching tightly around his sword.

“Jay, what is that? What did he just do?!” Looking back, the knight now had the spear floating in the air, the sharp edge pointed straight into the horizon. Around them, the dragons took defensive positions, unfazed.

“That’s the Elven Spear- the Spear of Fitz!” Jay exclaimed, stepping forward in awe. “If what I’ve heard and seen is true, that spear was forged in some unknown magic by the Elven King himself, and is the very crest of his royal name.” Jay shook his head to himself. “The odd part is, Fitz forged that weapon, but when Sir Eric came around, Fitz just...gifted it to him, I’m told.”

Eric’s inner relations now seemed to be just one big blur. Had he been in a relationship with Bianca, or Fitz? Or perhaps both? Or neither? In any case, he forced himself to shed the thoughts from his mind, as there were much more pressing matters dead ahead. 

Smitty wrapped a hand around John’s upper arm, using him as an anchor as he continued to listen to the earth. “There are so many of them,” He relayed. “but they aren’t moving. They’re stopped!”

John looked passed the defensive dragons and into the distance, narrowing his eyes in useless hopes that he could see what’s coming. Despite the wall of seemingly unstoppable beasts around them, and the three gentlemen by his side prepared for battle, John wasn’t sure he’d ever been so frightened in his life- but it wasn’t the fear of losing his own life that plagued him, it was the fear of losing his newfound companions.

They each had their own astounding ways of fighting, and what did John have to give? A sword he could barely use? And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that Smitty and Jay at the very least would lay down their lives protecting John; they’d proved that much already. And for what? What was so special about John that Jay wouldn’t hesitate to kill men in his name despite the oath he’d sworn to himself, and that Smitty would spend his powers until he fell unconscious time and time again?

Here he stood, clinging back to Smitty like a leech as the fairy spread his wings, the magic beginning to trickle down from their edges. No longer listening, Smitty bore a defensive stance, his face blank as he gazed out into the far away yonder. Jay took a position ahead of them both, sword in hand, waiting.

They were ready for war, but John wasn’t ready to lose them in his name.

~#~

“It seems they have the banished Sir Eric on their side.” Bordia let the telescope drop from her eye, turning to Anna. “He now has six dragons on his side, not to mention Rogue and the fairy. This will be no easy feat.”

“What is the plan, then, Your Highness?” Anna inclined. The wind blowing through her long hair made her resemble one of the many paintings hanging around the castle back home. That’s where she belonged, Bordia knew- right where she could be sure Anna was safe.

Bordia’d had no choice but to take Anna along, at her father’s wishes. When they’d received word that Rogue and his newfound company had passed into Wrenomya, there was no telling what kind of defenses Rogue would gather- and it seemed he’d only proved her father’s wishes, now that he’d recruited Sir Eric, as well. She was ordered to take Anna and a good quarter of the army with her, just to make sure she returned victorious. It seemed her victory would have to wait.

“Send word to my father. I want the entirety of my army. For now, we’ll pull back and wait for the rest of our forces before we carry on. Upon our victory, we shall take those dragons to my father and train them for future use.” Bordia handed the telescope to a nearby servant nonchalantly, but Anna only struggled for words at her order. 

“Your Highness, I don’t believe a mission of such a small scale would require the entirety of our forces-”

“They have six dragons, Sir Eric, a fairy and the greatest assassin to ever walk upon Erestia.” Bordia stated, her expression cold and lifeless as her eyes reflected something close to a glare at her own lover. “Rogue and the fairy alone took down our finest squadron composed of thirty soldiers, and I refuse to wait and see what scraps they will leave with this mere quarter of our army.”

Anna suddenly gave her a look of sorrow, her eyes threatening to pool with tears. Bordia felt a sharp pang in her chest, and let down her guard as she stepped closer to the knight. “I apologize for my tone.” Bordia crossed an arm over her chest, the closest thing she could give as an action of her remorse. “Please, understand that I cannot fail my father again.” 

Anna looked to her feet, shifting her weight to the other foot as she sniffed. It took everything in Bordia’s power not to embrace her then and there; no one needed to know of their close relations, lest they relay it to the king. So, she only lowered her voice, taking a final step closer. “I want you to ride back and deliver my request. When you get there, tell him I also requested for you to stay at home and protect my father. There won’t be many left to defend the castle, and…” She swallowed, suddenly overcome by anxiety. “...I would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you out here, under my watch.”

Her lover looked back up to her, angered and displeased. “Sometimes, I can’t tell whether you’ve devoted yourself to me or your father’s word.”

She turned her back and found her horse, riding off without another word, back to Vale. Bordia was left standing, feeling the void in her chest swallow more of her heart. Perhaps the worst part, Bordia thought, was that she couldn’t answer Anna’s question, either.

~#~

“Something’s wrong,” Smitty called to Sir Eric, his hand wrapping tighter around John’s bicep as his wings fluttered behind him. The knight turned around briefly to face him, his spear still levitating in the air beside him. “They- they’re retreating!”

Jay gave him a questioning look before replying. “She knows we have dragons,” He guessed. “A great deal of Wilfor’s power comes from the beasts he’s tamed for his army. He’ll want the dragons, and Bordia will do everything in her power to make sure they get to him.”

“So what’s her plan?” John questioned, stepping towards him. Smitty’s hand loosened around his bicep but didn’t let go.

Jay swallowed, shaking his head to himself. “She’ll be gathering more forces. I don’t know how many she already has waiting out there, but in any case, she may just return with her full army.”

“All of them?” John could barely make a good estimate as to how many soldiers Vale’s army contained. Gathering them all, every land, sea and sky force, sounded too outrageous to be true. “All for six dragons?”

“She isn’t just considering them, I don’t reckon.” Jay replied. “There’s been a bounty on your head for nine days, mine for seven. Wilfor wants us dead, and if it’s his request, Bordia will make sure that request is fulfilled. This, not to mention he wants Smitty in Vale, alive, for his power.”

John shook his head, an odd feeling of hopelessness overtaking him. He stumbled to stay on his feet as his mind raced with questions, and in the back of his conscience, he felt Smitty place a hand on his lower back to keep him grounded. He leaned into the fairy, letting his eyes fall closed. It was too much- all of it. It was barely midday and he was already having a panic attack. Fantastic.

“What do we do now?” He heard Jay call, and Sir Eric answered.

“We carry on.” Eric was at their side now, and letting his eyes open, he saw the knight standing before him. Eric pushed John’s hair back with a gloved hand, the other holding the Elven Spear. He didn’t lean into it, oddly enough; it seemed his body only did that when it was Smitty’s hand. “If what you say is true, we have some time before she’ll advance, again. The pass is only another day away; she won’t follow us through there. She’ll have to reason with the Merfolkian Queen for a way around Brundirth.”

“We’d best get going, then,” Smitty declared. He held John closer to him. “John needs to sit down for a while. Hurry, now.” 

Vivian approached their side and lifted John onto the saddle. Almost immediately, he melted into it, letting his eyes fall closed once more. He felt Smitty mount the saddle beside him, making quick work of rubbing comforting circles into his back. Out of all the shock and panic he’d just experienced, a warm feeling still blossomed in his chest, taking his lungs hostage and spreading to his throat. He found fond comfort in it, and soon, he was lulled off to sleep as the dragons began moving once more.

~#~

“John,” A voice whispered, pulling him slowly from his sleep. “John, it’s time to wake up. We’ve stopped for the night.”

He opened his eyes to Smitty, looming above him with his soft gaze. The sun had fallen and stars littered the skies, casting Smitty’s wings aglow with azure magic. Somewhere beyond Vivian’s saddle was a gentle stream, and the buzzing of the night flowed along with it in harmony. The scene was familiar to him, but John never grew tired of this heaven.

“I’ve made a bed for you on the ground. I thought it may as well be more comfortable than up here on the saddle. We’ve made dinner, as well.” John hesitated before sitting up slowly, Smitty’s hand on his shoulder. He realized that the dragon beneath them must have been sleeping, and looked out into the distance to see her mate and her children with Eric. It seemed he was taking time to train them- or bond, at least.

John looked over the edge; even if Vivian was asleep, it was still a ways down, and he was hesitant to do as Jay had done before and slide down the side of the saddle. Smitty seemed to sense his discomfort as he slid an arm beneath his legs and the other behind his back, promptly lifting him off the ground.

It took him by surprise as he held tight to the man holding him; he hadn’t expected such brute and effortless strength from Smitty, even if he wasn’t any ordinary creature. Smitty chuckled as he lead him to the edge of the saddle. “I know what you’re thinking, John. Most I’ve encountered in this fashion thought the same as well. How do you think I carried you to my home that fateful evening?”

Smitty leapt gently from the saddle, and using his wings, they cascaded slowly to the ground, undisturbing to Vivian’s slumber. He expected Smitty to let him down once they’d met the grass, but he only carried John to the sitting logs by the fire, Jay asleep not too far away. They sat next to each other on the log, John wanting to shy away in slight embarrassment not remaining still. 

John suddenly noticed the few horses looming around, either asleep or grazing near the fire. They didn’t shy away from Vivian, and the dragon didn’t seem to mind as she only slept on. They were wild horses, John knew. Perhaps he should ask why they were relaxing as if they owned the area.

Before he had a chance to ask, Smitty handed him a finely carved, wooden platter, roasted beef with various vegetables and fruits upon it with bread to pair. Just the sight of it made his mouth water, and the question slipped from his mind. “The dragons went hunting earlier, and they found some cows. Eric managed to salvage some of their beef for dinner before they completely devoured it.”

 

Smitty slipped a small strip of beef for himself and savored it slowly, while John wasted no time in scarfing it down like he hadn’t eaten in weeks (it’d been a whole day, so he wouldn’t hold that against himself). It was odd, though, how terribly comfortable he was eating in such an improper manner next to Smitty, the epitome of good manners. Well, he guessed, he was comfortable doing a lot of things in front of Smitty, none of which he had an explanation for. Perhaps it was a stone better left unturned, he decided.

As Smitty had the last bite of his strip of beef, a thought popped into John’s mind and came right out of his mouth. “You know, I’ve always seen you as a vegan. Or a vegetarian, at least.” Smitty raised a brow at him, swallowing.

“I wouldn’t blame you. I guess I do give off that sort of vibe.” Smitty concluded. “Consuming meat is just the natural way of things. It keeps life in check, not to mention it contributes to the protein you mortals require.” 

“”It keeps life in check?”” John quoted, questioning. Smitty nodded.

“Some species have been designed to release the magical essence they bear quicker than others, specifically species that are consumed daily, like cows or pigs or fruits and vegetables. There’s a little timer for everything, and in nature, that timer goes off sooner for some than most, because that’s just the natural way of things.” Smitty snagged a grape from the platter and popped it into his mouth. John didn’t mind, but he questioned why Smitty was stealing his food when fairies didn’t need it. 

“Are you saying that everything contains magic?” John tore off a piece of bread and chewed it slowly. His appetite had calmed down, now that he’d already devoured all of that beef.

“Of course. Magic is in everything that is living. Magic is _life itself_.” As if on cue, the wind blew gently passed them, swaying the grass to and fro. “The amount of magic one has determines whether or not they’re mortal, or whether they’re even alive. If one has too little or none at all, it will cease to be; if one has too much magic, it will live forever. That is what divides Erestians from the Gods.”

“So you...have too much magic?” John concluded, but Smitty shook his head.

“It’s not just that I have too much magic- it’s that I am composed of magic _completely_. When my mother impregnated herself with me, she needed no man to assist, and used her own magic on herself. I am born from magic- it is my very blood, my very being, my very soul.” As marvellous as it sounded, there was no smile upon Smitty’s face, no hint of pride. It was as if he was only reciting fact, and not legend. “For that, I have been bound to an eternity upon this planet. Only when the last of the magic fades shall I fade with it, that being, if I am not killed, first.”

Smitty suddenly looked to John’s hip, his brow furrowing as he gestured to the sword. “Do you mind if I-?”

John scrambled to unsheathe it, setting the platter aside. “No, no, it’s yours.”

Smitty hesitated as he gingerly took the sword from his hands, lying flat across his own lap. John bit his lip anxiously. From the moment Smitty had given him the weapon, John knew he cherished it dearly- as to why, he didn’t know, and the fairy had seemed reluctant to tell. He was unable to keep his silence over it any longer, and only prayed Smitty wouldn’t be angry for his questioning.

“Where did you get this sword?” He asked, so quiet he wasn’t sure Smitty would hear, even if they were sat right next to each other. 

Smitty was silent for a few long moments before he replied. “It was left in my care, centuries ago...by a woman named Fenaria.” Smitty swallowed, his eyes never leaving the blade. “Back then, Vale was under the ruling of a tyrannical leader, much like it is now. Fenaria was the highest knight in the land, and yet…” He shook his head to himself. “...the king had given her a task she couldn’t rid of her humanity to fulfill, and so, she ran. She ran, and soon enough, she found me.

“I shared my home with her, and eventually- eventually, my love, as well.” Smitty paused, swallowing. John felt a pang in his chest. Jealousy, he wondered? But what for? What did he have to be jealous of? “She was nearing the end of her life in her final years when I began searching for an immortality spell, anything I could use to keep her there with me for eternity out of selfishness...but alas, she passed on before I could save her.” 

Smitty slid his hand over the blade, tears pooling in his eyes. John felt the need to cry with him, as if it would provide him comfort. “She left behind her sword, and told me before she passed that-...that, if I were to find anyone else...I would give it to them.” Smitty turned to face him, appearing nervous. John could only gaze back, watching as Smitty’s tears were dotted with sparks of magic, falling from his eyes as they did his wings. “And so, I gave it to you.”

Something must have burst in John’s chest, then, because suddenly, all of his feelings came tumbling out of his heart, relaying the message they’d practically been screaming to his mind for days, now. And although it didn’t quite make sense the second it hit him, it didn’t take him too many moments after to realize, that he was hopelessly, devotedly, and utterly in love with the Great Smitius of the Greenwood.

He didn’t have time to process his emotions before Smitty extended the sword back to him expectantly, still appearing nervous. But if Smitty was nervous, John was _quaking_ , because this was not how he expected his evening to go.

Perhaps he’d gone mad. Perhaps it had just been a long day. Either way, John knew that either explanation for his current emotions wouldn’t change his mind, nor the airless feeling making itself comfortable in his heart. He’d fallen- in just nine days, he’d _fallen_ \- and even if it was a passing feeling, he knew that everything was about to change.

“John?” Smitty called to him, brows furrowed in worry. “John? Are you alright?” 

He snapped himself out of it, his mind still hazy from the sudden rush of blood to his head. As emotions came whirling into his head, so did his past inquiries, and he found himself unable to bite back his nagging question. “Why are there horses all around?”

After a sudden moment of silence, Smitty only smiled sadly with a chuckle, shaking his head to himself as he stood. He pulled John to his feet as well, his hand once again on John’s bicep, and sheathed the sword himself. “We’ll need them for tomorrow when we go through the pass. I made peace with them, and they’ve agreed to assist us.”

Smitty began leading him to where their beddings were made by each other, not too far from the fire but close enough to stay warm. Smitty helped him slip beneath his blanket and, wordlessly, the fairy laid himself down upon his stomach. They were close enough to reach their hands out just slightly to touch each other, and still, Smitty slid closer, not having to ask as he laid his wing out atop of John. 

John suddenly forgot everything that had happened that day, deciding to focus only on the matter currently at hand. Tomorrow, they would go through the pass and probably die doing it, but that night, he was in love with Smitty, and Smitty had his wing draped over him, and everything was just as perfect as it had been they day they met. He only wondered if Smitty felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as short as this chapter is, a lot of stuff happened, so lets recap: eric has a cool floating spear from his close good good friend Fitz, three of the new dragons now have names, bordia made her girlfriend mad, smitty had a girlfriend one (1) time before, smitty isnt vegan and john is in love with him. also, a basic breakdown of erestian magic. youre welcome.
> 
> i honestly didnt plan for john to realize he was in love this early on but HERE WE ARE so...youre welcome? I think? can it even be considered love if theyve only known each other for nine days? is that legal in fanfic? is that legal in life? am i overthinking this? yes, ok, lets move on
> 
> please please PLEASE go listen to el dorado, and its gonna sound weird at first, but just wait til that shit drops because holy FUCK its a good song
> 
> next chapter: arathian's pass!!!!!!!! this ones gonna take a bit to write- not because its long, but because its painful. good luck getting through it when it comes out!!!!!! yeeyee!!!!!!


	8. Trial By Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "[Trial By Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-9eTFh9bJs)" by Arn Andersson and Mark Brittingham

There was an old tale people had passed down, from generation to the next, used to scare their children into doing their chores without ever knowing if it was truly real or not. The Great Pass at the center of Erestia, the gateway to the underworld, a place from only one man had ever returned. 

They told their children the tale, or perhaps one alike, its true contents scattered with the curse of time. The Lust of Velios, the Greed of Fraysia, the Sloth of Arathian. It was anything but godlike, and still the story was told as anything but divine, the only proper explanation for the monstrosity stretching across Brundirth. 

Velios, as most gods had in old tales, fallen in love with Fraysia, the Goddess of Love and Beauty. As she faced proposals and attempts on her devotion with each passing day, the God King’s profession meant nothing to her. Her greed lay elsewhere, in the deep chests of Arathian’s treasures. Arathian, Brother of Velios, God of Death. 

To win her love, Velios tried time and time again to steal his brother’s treasures, but the clever Arathian kept it out of his reach. One day, however, Velios had just nearly stolen the treasure out from under his fingertips, and Arathian knew he could no longer toy with his brother’s avarice. And so, he hid his treasures at the center of Erestia, leaving only one passageway to its residence. Upon his passage he birthed the Great Arathius, a monster born of Arathian’s Divine Fire. 

He named this beast Arathius, bearing his name but not his divinity. It had a hundred tendrils doused in liquid flame, and where its eyes should have been at the bottom of the pit was instead a gargantuan maw, round and stuffed with teeth so sharp they could slice through the darkness of the aether if it truly wished it. It guarded the riches it had been birthed upon, and seeing no way to reach the treasure he had sought for centuries, Velios finally succumbed to surrender. 

However, when Arathian tried to kill his child as it served no more use to him, Arathius persisted, and Death left his mission behind as he descended back to the underworld. Arathius would remain in his pit for the rest of time, famished, his hunger only to be ceased when Velios finally landed between his great jaws. 

The Lust of Velios, the Greed of Fraysia, the Sloth of Arathian.

~#~

They awoke at dawn, and for hours they travelled until a tenebrous grey was cast into the horizon and over behind the mountains that lay before them. It was as if the sun had gone, leaving only clouds of an ash-stricken black behind it, with no clear sign of returning. The weeping skies were not brought by the natural turn of storms, but by the ash and smoke bellowing from the pit of Arathian’s Pass now not too far ahead. It was the eternal dark Arathius had spread across the land before even man had walked, and John was certain that the darkness would still remain through the test of time.

Smitty, on the horse beside him, had drawn his sword the moment the moment the skies had gone dark, clenched so tightly in his hand John saw his knuckles go white. Seeing him so suddenly anxious caused John to be the same, if not even more so; his head span with worry until he grew dizzy, and his stomach tossed and turned in his belly until he was sure he’d have to lean over his saddle to empty its contents. It wasn’t much better when the horses they rode upon stomped their hooves into the dirt and threw their heads about in protest, the only thing keeping them from turning around and dashing back to their pastures being Smitty’s encouraging words to them. 

They finally approached the very edge of a large, foreboding mountain, an obvious glow emitting from its very peak onto the dark clouds above in the distance. Eric halted the group and spun around on his horse, his spear sliding itself out from the side of Vivian’s saddle to glide smoothly to his hand. 

“This is my final offer to the three of you,” Eric called. “turn back now, for there will be no changes of plans once we reach the pit!”

John swallowed as he turned to Smitty for comfort, but the fairy only kept his stare dead ahead, unyielding. His breath wavered when he exhaled, and he wrapped a tight grip around the hilt of his sword as a vice. He said nothing, for he was sure any words that escaped his tongue then would have been words of regret.

Eric’s brows were furrowed yet the rest of his face wept uncertainty, and John knew that, of the four of them, he must have been the most fearful of what they were about to face. Eric had made it through once, had charged through the fire, had looked death in the eye and persisted. John couldn’t even begin to imagine the dread Eric must have been feeling, then, nor could be even comprehend the utter courage Eric wore on his sleeve. A trio of strangers had shown up at his doorstep and begged for aid through his worst nightmare and offering nothing in return other than what lay on the other side. John was sure no being had ever been as gallant, or as stupendously insane, as the Great Sir Eric.

The knight turned to his dragon, swallowing before a sharp inhale. “Vivian, you already know what you must do. Stay strong,” Eric turned to the rest of the family. “all of you.”

The dragons prepared for departure as they opened their wings, but Vivian only took one last step forward, lowering her snout as Eric’s hand reached to meet it. Eric insisted on taking a step closer, as well, as he pressed his forehead against her nose, both of their eyes falling at the contact. John found himself unable to tear his gaze away, yet his eyes nearly pooled with tears. It just then dawned on him that, not only were their lives at stake, but that of the bait, and even more so. This may have been his last time seeing the very creatures he dreamt of as a kid, and this may have been Eric’s last time seeing his most cherished friend throughout the years.

The last ten days of his life had passed by like a century. John had stood judgement at the foot of the king and fought past the forces of the princess. He’d befriended an assassin, a legendary knight, and somehow, in just over a week, he’d found an unfamiliar ache in his heart he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. He’d found enemies, he’d found friends, and along the way, he’d let himself become blind to what lay ahead.

And now, as Arathian’s Pass loomed in the distance, it occurred to John that he wasn’t _ready_.

He wasn’t ready to die, not when he’d just found three reasons to live. And as he gazed into the eyes of Death, he found himself overcome with anxiousness, with anger, with _regret_. He’d let himself become to selfishly lost in his newfound friends that he didn’t bother to savor their time together. It was because of John’s plans that he was marching three men to their deaths in the first place. He’d been so caught up in the thought of saving Erestia that he didn’t even stop to consider the price.

Who was he to save Erestia? What had he done so far to even work towards that goal? For the last ten days, he’d been carried and protected by people that were actually worthy of saving their planet. Sir Eric, a renowned and prestigious knight unfairly accused, and despite his wrongful exile, he still fought for the people and for the world. Jay, who had been beaten and broken all his life, climbing his ladder until all others had been thrown to the bottom to have been declared King of Assassins, and climbed back down to still have been one of the kindest and most righteous men John had ever met. And then there was Smitius of the Greenwood, Son of Mariava, Grandson of Fraysia. He was bound to the very heart of Erestia, and was the last defender of his world that remained. He had a reason greater than any other to fight for its survival. 

And then, there was John. Powerless, defenseless, useless John, with no title to his name nor coin in his pocket. He had nothing to offer, had no way of even comparing to the men he’d surrounded himself with. He’d had the audacity to seek help from a divine being to fight a war that had never belonged to him in the first place. He’d placed three innocent men in the way of Bordia, and they wouldn’t have even been there were it not for John’s cowardice. He’d selfishly fallen in love with a fairy, of all beings, as if a peasant on death row was even worthy of such an emotion. 

Gazing into the eyes of death, John had nothing to lose, but the three men around him had everything on the line, and John had been the one put them there.

“When we enter the pit, you mustn’t think of anything but getting to the other side, do you all understand?” Eric inclined, and John forced himself to nod. “Think nothing of its tendrils, and focus only on riding as fast as you’re able- and for the love of Velios, _don’t look down_.”

They set off towards the pass, and John had hoped Eric would say more, give them hope and guidance. But John knew the look of a man devoid of aspiration, and he knew Eric must have felt like he was walking them to their deaths. He wouldn’t be wrong in believing so.

Upwards, they scaled the rocky edge of the mountain on horseback, each step sinking his lungs deeper into his stomach. When they reached the clearing with a large cave opening, John could feel his heart pounding in his throat, drumming in his ears and sending blood to his head. He opened his cantine and choked down water to try and sway his nausea. 

Before they entered the cave, Eric hesitantly turned his horse around, swallowing as his hands gripped the reins. “Gods be with us, gentlemen.”

Eric turned and led them into the cave when there was no more to say, and John forced himself to keep his tears behind his eyes. He wouldn’t cry, not now. Not when the three men around him kept their fear bottled up, as well. He told himself he had to restrain from crying to keep himself strong, but the other part of him was saying he may need them for later, should he make it out alive.

As the light began to fade, Jay struck up a torch, dim but just enough to keep them moving. Soon, John could hear the deafening sounds of roaring dragons and a thunderous monster ahead, and not too much further, Arathius’ cries shook the very ground they stood upon. Jay left the torch to burn upon the ground when a red, nearly orange glow became apparent just ahead of them, shadows moving across the walls like thick vines. They were tendrils, John realized, and forced the contents of his stomach back downwards at the thought.

“Charge ahead, on my trail!” Eric declared, lashing the reins of his horse. They kept up close behind him, and soon, they had sped through the caves and out into the clearing- and, over the thin, sloping cliffside upon which they now stood, lay Arathius, a thousand meters down in his pit.

John briefly glanced up to see the open sky, and within it were the dragons, swiftly ducking and dodging the colossal tendrils coming up to meet them. He forced his eyes ahead, beating the reins faster and digging his boot into the horses’ side as he’d been instructed. He was the last of the group but trailed close, centering his attention on the fairy racing just ahead of him.

He would pay no mind to the tendrils, he told himself, nor to the dragons, nor to the large spurts of lava shooting up from within the pit at an alarming height. No, he would charge forward, determined to reach the other side of the pit that seemed an impossible away. The rumbling shaking the mountain from the pit rattled John to the bone and yet his horse charged forward on unsteady hooves, its devotion to Smitty too unyielding to do much else.

It only took a few moments for the heat to burrow into his skin and the low groans from the beast below to deafen his eardrums not too soon after. In their pursuit, John tore his eyes briefly away from Smitty’s back to quickly glance across the pass to the opposite opening, seeming miles away. The doubt and gnawing fear set in even deeper and nestled right alongside the adrenaline, beating his heart faster and more so, relentless. There was no turning back.

A spurt of lava burst from within the pit, shooting up meters above them as they charged. John quickly steered his steed to the right, just narrowly missing it as he continued on. His chest grew tighter than it ever had before as tears began building up around his eyes, whether from the blistering heat or the horrific dread, he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to think about how he’d just nearly died, nor how close to death they truly were. 

Onward they charged, seeming to grow faster by the minute, and for a brief while, John wondered just how long their horses could hold them under the searing pressure. Soon enough, they had crossed what John considered to be their halfway point, and something close to hope struck his heart and breathed air back into his lungs. No one would have to die that day, he thought. This could _work_. 

His hopes were lost to the fire, however, as they neared the end of the pass. His horse had already been faltering behind the others not a terrible distance behind, but the gap was just wide enough for a spurt of lava to divide them. His horse came to a damning halt, bucking him from its back as it reared on his back legs. The lava met its body, and it cried out in agony, something in its deafening shrieks sounding human. 

John was thrown to the ground, and on the narrow path, he stopped his rolling right at the edge of the cliff, far too close for comfort as he gathered his wits. But they were soon lost again as he opened his eyes to the pit below, and upon it, the Great Son of Hell Himself. 

Arathius was just as the tales had declared and worse. The horrid void of a mouth, covered in the sharpest of teeth, made up for its lack of eyes. Its tendrils sprouted from the lava and reached to the skies above, but even with its diverted attention, John felt as if it already had caught him between its appendages. Now that he had seen the very creature of his nightmares, he found himself unable to look away, caught in its trance. 

He was pulled from his daze as he saw another spurt of lava shoot from the pit, and he found himself crawling helplessly back, hyperventilating as he dragged himself back across the ground. He could hear the hooves pounding closer but his mind was unable to register it, and in the slightest of a second, he had already declared himself a dead man. If Arathius wouldn’t get him, John decided, the lava would.

He watched helplessly as it towered into the air above him, but before it could strike, a figure flew to land before it, its wings stretched what must have been meters to either of its sides. At the last moment, he recognized it as Smitty looming above him, his eyes feral with fear as his body leaked magic from his pores. His entire body was aglow with his sorcery, and his wings had grown twice- no, three times the size as they had been before, drawn from his body by raw and natural power. John had barely registered what had just happened before the lava struck Smitty’s body.

He saw the lava burn holes through Smitty’s wings before he heard the deafening scream. John saw the pain rip through the fairy’s very soul, burrowing from the outside in, tearing into his body, and John could only lie there, stunned, useless. 

He was torn from the ground not a second later to find himself seated between Jay and his horse, and he grabbed on for dear life as they charged back to the mouth of the cave not too far ahead. When he gathered his wits, he looked back to where he’d just lain, seeing Eric with Smitty now slung over his lap. His wings nearly dragged along the ground, torn, left in ruin as the magic slipped away from his unconscious body. His wings shrank back to their normal size, and any sign of life slipped away from his being, leaving nothing but a broken shell.

If he had screamed for Smitty, his ears were blind to it. He couldn’t feel the tears burning his face nor the sudden chill of the cave biting into his skin, and even as the cave around them grew dark, his throat still maiming with his cries. As time passed by in an eternity, all he could think was _Smitty, I should have done more. I could have done more, for you_.

The light hit them as they exited out the other side of the mountain, and Jay led them swiftly down its side, so fast John felt as if the horse would tumble the rest of the way down. His screaming ceased but his tears refused, spilling downward as he could only gaze back at Smitty, unable to feeling anything but pain, sorrow and _regret_.

They made it to an area of flat ground on the side of the mountain, the thicket of the forest looming far in the distance, when the dragons- all six of them, John unconsciously counted- swooped down from the heights. Eric brought his horse to a halt, his body taut with anxiousness. Upward, he called: “Vivian! _Vivian_!”

The mother made a harsh landing with the intensity of her rider’s voice, and seeing Smitty’s state, she immediately heeled to allow for the mounting of her saddle. Eric lifted Smitty into his arms and off the horse, and as John struggled to break free from Jay’s hold to reach his side, the other only held him tighter, his forehead digging into John’s neck in a hurried embrace.

“Smitty! Smitty, please!” John called, not sure what he was asking for. To see him conscious again? A second chance? As he felt himself crumble in Jay’s arms, he found that it didn’t really matter. All he wanted was Smitty, alive and healthy, his wings full and his body unmarred. 

The other dragons joined them just as Eric finished strapping Smitty to the saddle, lying on his stomach with his body pressed tightly into the leather. Eric quickly slid down the saddle’s edge before reaching into one of its compartments and pulling a leaf of parchment from within it. Shedding the armor at his forearm, he drew his dagger and pulled back his sleeve, making a quick slice through his skin. With his own blood, he began to write with the dagger as his quill, and wrote only two words on the paper- “SAVE HIM.”

He tucked the letter back into an open compartment before rolling up his sleeve, snatching his discarded guard from the ground. John could see the blood already staining his shirt. To the dragons, Eric called: “Take him to Feradonia, quickly! Make no stops along the way, and at all costs, get him to King Fitz as soon as possible!” Eric turned to Vivian, patting her leg before stepping back. “I’m counting on you-” He swallowed, pausing. “All of you. Go, now! Take flight!”

They leapt from the mountain, and John could only watch, hopeless, as Smitty disappeared into the clouded horizon. He felt himself slump down to his very soul, and he broke down there in Jay’s arms, unsure of what to feel. All he could register was the burning guilt within him, any pity he could have felt being tossed away by shame. Smitty didn’t deserve it. Smitty was going to die saving John, and it would be all his fault.

Eric climbed back on his horse, and Jay let John slide to the ground on unsteady legs as the knight trotted up beside him. “The dragons will reach the palace in two hours, but for us, we’ll have to ride a day, at the very least.” Eric held out his unbloodied arm, and John realized a moment too late that he was supposed to mount the horse behind him. John almost lost his footing trying to swing himself over. “The dragons couldn’t have fit through the forest ahead. It’s best they stay with their mother.” 

John, silent, only tightened his grip around Eric’s waste. Eric turned his head towards him, not quite facing but enough that John could feel the tickling of the knight’s hair on his own. “It wasn’t your fault.” After a brief moment of silence and Jay’s hand reaching over to place itself on John’s shoulder, Eric concluded: “He’s going to live.”

Yesterday, John had believed that Smitty’s wings were impenetrable, his skin invincible. He’d believed that the only way Smitty could ever be truly hurt was through the absence of magic. He hadn’t wanted to believe that skin so smooth, so utterly perfect could have been anything but indestructible, not a single scar on any square inch. It was foolish of him, he knew, but the thought of what he’d seen just minutes before seemed impossible. What was even more impossible, was that John could have ever allowed such travesty to happen.

Eric was wrong. He had to be. Smitty had sacrificed himself for John, so it couldn’t have been any one person’s fault but his own. It should have been John with skin marred and melted from the lava. It should have been John on the back of that dragon. It should have been John that was practically handed to Death at his own gate to the underworld. What had Smitty done to deserve it? And why hadn’t he just let John die?

He asked himself as he had before: what made him deserving? Better yet, what had Smitty seen in him? Blind courage was nothing to be proud of- it had landed him on death row, of all places. And yet, Smitty had thrown himself into the line of fire without a second thought, his drive so great it brought up some ancient sort of magic within him. And if his devotion weren’t already true enough, just the look in Smitty’s eye had told a million tales, and a million truths to follow. John didn’t doubt Smitty’s faith in him. Instead, he doubted his own worth. 

The pace Eric had set for the three of them was just nearly as relentless as it had been in the pass, and soon enough, they had left the mountains behind for the beginnings of the Elwin Pine not too far ahead. The sheer density of the forest did nothing to shield him from the grey overcast in the sky, seeming almost darker than the ash-covered clouds of the mountains.

And, as if the Gods were spitting on any last tinges of hope John had left, it began to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was definitely the hardest chapter to write yet, but for what i have planned, there are definitely gonna be more painful chaps to come. so, lets recap: john is a big pile of self-hatred, and smitty nearly died saving john from something john couldnt control and unleashed some weird ass powers in the process (we'll cover that later). now, smittys off to feradonia to see king fitz, and we've all gotta hold on until then. i also added some more mythology. if i didnt mention it before, the mythology ive created for the gods and shit in this fic is just as batshit crazy as any other mythological story, so dont question it.
> 
> if youre wondering why eric decided to write in his own blood, im gonna go ahead and tell you bc i'll probably forget to explain later: the elves in this story are real good chemists, and if eric didnt sign that paper (which he most certainly didnt), fitz'll still know its him just from his blood. its also a metaphorical thing youll understand later once you actually meet fitz
> 
> thank you all so much again for all of the kind comments and kudos!!!!! im never gonna stop telling yall that for some reason!!!!!!!!!! its just really important to me that yall know how many shits i give (a lot)!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> anyway mason's in the next chapter


	9. Spellcaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Spellcaster" by Two Steps From Hell [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8ZYUCUbGo4).

“Ditch the horses. We’ll move faster without them.” There was no room for debate in Eric’s voice, only the stern command of a man with a single drive. It was the voice of a general, perhaps even a war-bound lord, devoid of emotion to leave room only for reason. John didn’t know it well, but he just as well knew it when he heard it, and was almost tempted to comply.

“Pardon?” He choked, his hand still on the reins. They’d had to dismount soon into the Elwin Pine when it became apparent that the terrain wouldn’t be nearly as forgiving as that of the Greenwood nor the plains of Wrenomya. It was as if someone had carved ditches every few meters, nothing but obstacles that strained the horses, and so they’d continued on foot to lighten their load. Even if they were moving faster, it seemed it still wasn’t enough for the knight.

“I said, ditch the horses,” He repeated, turning back to face them. Jay stepped forward with his horse’s reins clutched tightly in his hand. 

“We heard you perfectly well, but apparently, your own ears aren’t quite as perceptive.” Jay practically spat on Eric’s boots with the strain in his voice. Eric furrowed his brow, his face taut with subdued anger. “These horses carry an entire load, and if we were to press on with it all on our backs, it would only slow us down even more. All that, not to mention that there aren’t any other horses until we reach northern Feradonia, unless you expect them to waltz back through the pass to their harras?” 

“To hell with the horses!” Eric stepped forward, the reins falling from his hands. Jay only stood firm as the knight approached closely, intending to intimidate. John felt that this was coming, a result of all the pent-up stress that had happened earlier that day, what with Smitty off to the Great City, none of them sure what would happen. Not to mention, Eric had just lived through his greatest nightmare once again, and as their escort, the burden of leading the trio must have somehow fallen on the knight. They were each bound to burst eventually. “They’re not suited for this terrain, and we need to reach the Great City by morning. We need to keep moving-” 

“We’ve just walked passed the literal gate to the underworld and possibly lost a friend, and you expect us to keep on like this until morning?” Jay retorted, suddenly extending his arm to John not too far away. “What is John to do if you push him until sunrise? He’s already looks as if he could collapse any moment now, and he’s bearing the greatest loss of our lot!”

John felt a sting in his pride at the comment, but felt no better at Eric’s response. “He volunteered to march to the Fane, and by all the Gods, he shall march. I don’t give a damn how weak he seems; there’s a feast waiting at the palace.” John’s stomach turned at that. Just thinking of food made him recall the scent of Smitty’s charring flesh. He found it impossible to rid himself of the image.

“If he keeps on like this, he won’t make it to the City, and we’ll have the blood of not one, but two men on our hands.” Jay took a step closer, his voice lowering. “You know damn well I’m beyond my days of standing by and watching people fade away.”

“You lie,” Eric practically spat. “A wolf never ceases its hunt until it draws its last breath. Isn’t that right, _Rogue_?” 

John could practically feel the sting that must have hit Jay, and only found himself growing nauseous. Jay gave Eric a look John had never seen on a man’s face but his one, one of pure anger and resentment, all the while a look of defeat. He wondered who would draw their sword first. He wasn’t going to wait around to find out.

John sighed, a sudden feeling of fatigue swirling around with his nausea. Jay was certainly right- he wasn’t going to make it until morning if they continued their relentless pace through the unforgiving terrain. Still, he found himself charging onward, wishing Jay and Eric would sort out their quarrel follow. He kept a hand on his sword to ground himself as he went.

“John?” Jay called after him, hearing him move past Eric only to stop in his tracks. “John, don’t go on without us, it isn’t safe.” 

John didn’t reply. He knew it wasn’t safe, but it’d be better if he could just get himself murdered, already. He’d done nothing but hold them back and possibly have their friend killed. What use was he?

“John!” Jay called again. John had just stumbled up the next hill, and found himself moving towards a nearby tree to try and gain a moment’s rest. But as he neared, he suddenly found himself with a thick vine snaked around his legs, hauling him upwards and upside down to hang from the tree. Jay called to him again with a distraught urgency in his voice. “John!” 

The pair came bounding after him, their quarrel left behind as they approached John, still hanging upside down. He tried to reach for his sword, but found his hands hanging uselessly downward. The pair readied their swords but stayed meters away, searching around for a culprit. 

“Magic,” Eric declared, his spear in hand. “Environmental manipulation. The only beings capable of that magic are fairies and sorcerers.”

“A sorcerer?” Jay exclaimed, bewilderment clouding his voice. “You don’t mean-?”

“Hush,” Eric told him, listening. John still hung uselessly from the tree, blood rushing to his head. He may just pass out sooner than he intended. 

Another pair of vines suddenly shot from the trees, each wrapping around their legs and hauling them off their feet just as they’d done with John. Jay lost his grip on his sword while Eric called his spear back to him, already trying to use it to saw through their bindings. However, seeing what little progress he was making, John was sure they’d pass out before he could finish.

It was only a few moments later when a figure entered through the underbrush, decked a cloak of an earthy brown and green robes underneath, a hood covering his face as he bore a thick staff of twirling and winding wood in his hands. At its top was a strange ore John had no knowledge of, shining a bright green and wound with the wood encasing it.

Eric let the spear fall to the ground in defeat, his arms hanging down. John watched as Jay did the same, and Eric cleared his throat. “August Sorcerer of the Elwin Pine,” He spoke straight, yet John could hear the intimidation in his voice. “It is an honor to be of your acquaintance.”

More vines began to tighten around john, binding his arms to his sides before he was turned properly over, facing the sorcerer as his blood began to circulate his body. The sorcerer did the same to the others before pulling the hood from his face, giving light to a rather young man with light hair cut short to his head and an uncertain look in his eye. How did one so young have so much power? From what John had learned from tales and books, sorcerers were all aged, only powerful late in their lives. And how did he bear such unwavering magical strength with the current state of Erestia?

“What is your business in my forest?” The sorcerer asked, letting the end of his staff rest against the ground. 

“We have travelled across Arathian’s Pass in pursuit of the Great City. We have an audience with the Great King Fitz and a friend waiting there.” Eric replied. The sorcerer furrowed his brow, seeming confused.

“Who are you? What importance do you have to King Fitz?” John wondered if he was some sort of guard. Eric and Jay seemed to know very well who this sorcerer was, but John found himself at a sudden loss. 

“I am the Knighted Sir Eric of Vale and Wrenomya, Tamer of Dragons and Slayer of Beasts. These are my companions, Jay and Jonathan of Vale.” Eric paused, swallowing. “Fitz is...an old friend of mine. He is currently aiding one of our injured companions, and we must reach the Great City to visit him immediately.”

The sorcerer fell silent, contemplating, before he changed the subject completely. “You’re all very tired.”

John furrowed his brow, not quite sure whether the sorcerer had actually said that or if he was starting to hallucinate. “Uh...yes. We are.”

The sorcerer commanded the vines to lower them gently to the ground, slowly unravelling them from their legs and slithering back onto the trunks and branches of the trees. John’s hand went to his sword in instinct, but he refrained from drawing it. 

“You shall come with me to my home. Any who aren’t infiltrators of Feradonia are guests of the forests.” They didn’t have time to argue before the sorcerer had raised his staff to the horses down the hill, the gem at its top glowing slightly. “Come! Follow!” He commanded, and the horses scurried up the hillside after them. John suddenly thought of Smitty, comparing the fairy and the sorcerer’s powers as nearly the same, but he couldn’t help but notice the distinct differences in them. It was only a wild speculation, but John saw Smitty’s power as raw and a part of himself, while the sorcerer instead moved with his earthly manipulation like a river, as if he and his target were one in the same with a wall between them.

“My August Sorcerer, I’m afraid I must decline-” Eric persisted, stepping forward before the sorcerer pointed his staff towards him. Eric froze in his tracks, but John could tell it was more out of fear than anything.

“Any who aren’t infiltrators of Feradonia, are guests of the forest.” The sorcerer repeated, his voice low yet his eyes bearing vague humor. John suddenly wondered if he was completely sane. “And I’m not a sorcerer, I’m just a mage. Now, come. I’ll see to it you all have food and proper bedding before I send you off at sunrise.”

John took a moment to comprehend what the sorcerer- no, mage, had just told them, first trying to figure out what the difference between a sorcerer and a mage even was. His words implied that a mage was some lesser form of a sorcerer, but John hadn’t even heard of mages being an actual thing before. Even still, after seeing what the “mage” could do and coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t too terribly sane, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. What was a mage doing guarding the land of elves, anyway?

Jay, being more daring than he, decided to ask John’s question as they followed the mage reluctantly out of the clearing. “Good sir, if I may ask, what exactly differentiates you from a sorcerer? Pardon my ignorance on the matter.”

Ahead of them, the mage gave a sigh, but not for the reason John had expected. “If you keep speaking of me as if I’m some malevolent being, I’m going to have to speak to you as if you’re cattle. I’ll tell you to call me “Mason” only once.” The horse John had ridden not too long ago trotted up to his side, and although he didn’t doubt how willing it was to follow the mage, he still took it by the reins. “All sorcerers are born mages, and only can become known a “sorcerer” when the Goddess of Witchcraft Uronias grants you higher power. Very few ever become sorcerers for this reason, as she only chooses the most deserving and well-studied of mages.”

Well, that was certainly something his old books had never bothered teaching him. Feeling comfortable enough to question the mage without the fear of being strangled by another one of those vines, John inclined: “Just how powerful are you, exactly? And how do you use witchcraft at such high velocity without even breaking a sweat if you aren’t a sorcerer, especially with the current state of Erestia?”

“If you’re comparing my magic to that of an elf or a fairy, I’m afraid your idea of just how my magic is used has been terribly construed.” Mason concluded. John felt violated, as he had, in fact, been comparing Mason’s power to Smitty’s, even if there were no possible way the mage could have made that connection. It also seemed the mage was well aware of what was happening to Erestia, as he hadn’t bothered to question it. “While elves and fairies use their very energy that cycles through them and back into the earth, mages simply manipulate the energy that is already there- well, I say “simply.” It’s actually rather complex.”

John helped the horse up the hill as they continued on. In the far distance, doused in trees, he saw something that may or may not have been a little cottage covered in vegetation and flora- which, he could only assume, must have been true, even from so far away. 

“But fairies are more powerful than mages, are they not?” Eric inclined. 

“They would have been twenty years ago, but ever since this plague has spread across Erestia, fairies have lost a great deal of power while mages are able to use what’s left. The energy that’s being lost makes up the very being of fairies, and in turn, they lose power as it slips away.” John watched Eric nearly stop in his tracks before asking another question.

“How many fairies are left?” He inclined. “In Erestia, I mean?”

“Oh, last I heard, they were all out and about the other forests around the world,” Mason replied. He stopped in his tracks, turning to face them with a furrowed brow. The cottage wasn’t too far ahead, now. “Why do you ask?”

_I am the last of my kind_. The words seemed to haunt him, now. John guessed the message hadn’t spread to everyone, not even after what he’d assumed to be centuries.

“The fairies are gone.” John spoke, shocked at the quietness of his voice. He hadn’t intended to be so soft, but it seemed fitting, anyhow. He swallowed, unsure of what all to say. “The Gods sent them all to death. They spared Smitius to punish him with isolation in result of his birth.”

Jay and Eric gave him a bewildered look, but Mason only seemed sad, his brows furrowed in sorrow as his shoulders slumped. John finished, “He was horribly injured in Arathian’s Pass. We sent him ahead with Sir Eric’s dragons to seek aid in the Great City.”

Mason was silent for a long few moments before he suddenly turned to Eric. “So, you’re _that_ Sir Eric?”

Eric’s brow furrowed. John suddenly recalled Eric telling the mage his title in whole. “...what gave it away?”

“Oh, just a little assumption of mine.” Mason replied, John not quite sure whether he was being sarcastic or not, and they carried on towards the cottage. As they grew nearer, John could see just how ancient it was, old and crawling with vines and flora yet holding steadier still. The windows reminded him of those in Smitty’s home. Looking around, he saw more of Smitty than he’d like to think about. Every reminder of Smitty was another reminder that John had let him down.

Mason turned and raised his staff again, the emerald glowing as he belted a command, low and clear. “Stay near but don’t travel too far around. Let yourselves drink and rest.” The horses were torn from Mason’s control and put back into another command, letting themselves wander away as Mason led them through the cottage door.

It was only a single room, but just as littered with herbs and ointments as Smitty’s den had been, albeit with plenty of more shelves stocked with ancient-seeming books. There was a table in the center with three chairs around it, littered with more herbs and bowls of fruits and vegetables. There was a bed tucked into the corner, small and unmade, thick with blankets and a fluffed pillow. Even if the space was bigger than Smitty’s had been, it was just as cluttered, and felt even more so with four men now standing around.

“Sit, sit,” Mason cooed as he quickly whisked away the bowls to the counter with his staff. John sat, and his entire body seemed to melt into the chair. He hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was, both physically and mentally. His body wept for a bed, but the sun was only just beginning to set below the trees. He hadn’t realized just how much of the day had passed.

“So, with this whole “sorcerer” thing,” Jay inclined. John noticed how he purposefully distanced himself from Eric. He guessed their little feud wouldn’t blow over soon. “Why call yourself the “August Sorcerer of the Elwin Pine” if you’re only a mage? And you certainly look young for a feared being considered ancient.” It seemed there was more to Mason’s reputation than John had first anticipated.

Mason cleared his throat before opening the window, a couple bluejays soon flying to sit in the sill. “Well, the August Sorcerer was actually my mother. And my grandfather. And my great grandfather. And a few grandfathers before that...” Mason’s brow furrowed, but he soon came to and busied his hands peeling oranges. “For your knowledge, there aren’t actually many mages or sorcerers left, and my family had been one of the last lines. It’s terribly hard to find another mage of the opposite gender to have a baby with when there are said to be only a few left in the world. My mother didn’t even think I’d turn out to wield magic at all when she eloped with some random mortal, but...here I am.

“So, when she perished of sickness when I was young, I took up her title, and I took up her legend. The August Sorcerer has been feared for centuries, ever since my great, great...however-many-greats grandfather nearly burned down an elven village with his power. He moved here to the Elwin Pine, built a cottage, settled with another sorcerer and stayed here, and so have the rest my family’s generation, each pretending to be my however-many-greats grandfather to stay in the Elven King’s good graces. He used to banish or execute any inelvish beings that stepped foot on his land without proving their power, but…” A pained look flashed across Eric’s face. Was Mason really talking about King Fitz, the ruler said to be the maker of peace? “...he’s changed since then. Now, I have tea with him every summer solstice to inform him of the dealings in his bordering forest. It usually turns into talks about magic since nothing really goes on, out here. If you couldn’t already tell.”

“Just how secluded is this place?” Jay inclined. “How far is the nearest house?”

“The closest people to this cottage are the ones that guard the gates to the Great City. There’s not much company. I haven’t had company since…” Mason paused, though only in bewilderment, and set down a handful of herbs to count on his fingers. After his shoulders slumped in defeat, he turned to face them, brows furrowed. “What number of month is it?”

John furrowed his brow, counting the days he’d been on his journey to try and recall exactly what day it was, and whether or not Fay had passed on into Fivios. At least John had an excuse, though, as he saw a calendar hanging on the mage’s wall. However, as he looked closer, he could barely tell just how ancient it was. It brought into question just how much Mason actually put himself amidst civilizations.

“It ought to be Fivios, by now,” Eric informed him. “Fifth month of the year.”

Mason gave Eric a blank stare before inhaling sharply, turning back to his work. “Fivios. Yes. I haven’t had company since Unes about four years ago. A squadron of the king’s guard had asked for directions back to the Great City.”

John could only stare, dumbfounded, before coming back to his senses. The mage was most certainly at least somewhat mad, seeing as how he probably only spoke to other people once a year or so with nothing but the forest for company. 

“What about other mages and sorcerers?” John asked. “Surely you must all speak to each other every now and again?” 

Mason’s hands dropped softly onto the counter, clutching a fistful of herbs in his hand. He turned to gaze out the window before his eyes landed on the bluejays sitting in his windowsill. “As far as I know, I’m the only mage left.”

A silence befell the room for a few long moments before Jay spoke again. “Well...what happened?”

Mason took a pitcher from the counter and added a splash of water to his bowl of herbs, then taking a polished, curved, wooden block and using it to mash the herbs together. “Well, a couple millennia or so ago, the dread sorcerer Tobias took the throne of the ancient Sorcerer’s Council.” John furrowed his brow and looked to his comrades, but they seemed just as perplexed as he. “This was when we sorcerers and mages had our own kingdom, you see. And so, as a non-royal took the throne, many had known that there would be dark days ahead- but none of the prophets could have foreseen his greed.

“Tobias had longed for the secret to immortality- for what reason, no one is quite sure. He had his most skilled sorcerers searching and experimenting day in and out, and as a result, their capabilities were sucked dry, and soon enough, they collapsed, one by one. But this gave Tobias a new idea- what, if instead of forcing his kingdom to exert all their energy into finding the key, he took their power for himself? And not just their power, but the very life that coursed through their veins to add to his own?

“Many feared that, once he perfected his horrid craft, he would be unstoppable. And so, the Great King Fitz not only killed Tobias himself, he also overtook the entire kingdom to make sure no others would get the same idea.” Mason, visibly shaken just from the story, set the herbs hastily aside and grabbed a large basket of fruit to set before them. “The remaining sorcerers of the highest power decided it would be best for the world of mages to disappear completely, both to save themselves from another Tobias and to free themselves of Fitz’s tyrannical rule.”

John’s brow furrowed as his head swarmed with confusion. He couldn’t be speaking of the current elven king; Fitz was a man that gave freedom to the oppressed and food to the hungry, not some tyrannical ruler with policies of imperialism. But as he looked to Eric once more, he still had that pained yet fond expression on his face, his fists clenched on the table.

“And so, the world of mages scattered across Erestia, and as time went on, fewer and fewer mages were being born. My family was one of the only ones to remain here, in what is now Feradonia, serving as guardians to the king, and if there are no mages left for me, I won’t be too terribly surprised. My family has only lasted this long because the entirety of Erestia knows of our services to Fitz.” Mason concluded, twiddling his thumbs as he stood awkwardly by the table.

Jay reached for a cluster of grapes, and the room fell silent once again until he asked, with an irking suspicion in his voice: “What else is known of this ‘Tobias’ fellow?”

Mason cleared his throat. “Well, not much is known about him at all, not since Fitz burned half of the sorcerers’ documents at the old capital. I know he was known to be rather flamboyant- and I know he’d been having an affair, but those details hardly matter. Some speculate he was trying to give his mistress immortality, but no one ever had proof. It’s much safer to say he was taking magic for himself.”

Another silence befell the room before Jay sucked in sharply, leaning back in his chair. “You know, come to think of it, I do believe Wilfor of Vale has a sorcerer under his influence, at the moment. I’ve heard whispers among the king’s guard for the few times I’ve stayed in the capital, but they could be no more than rumors.”

“The Sorcerer Radielle.” Eric concluded, barely sparing Jay a glance. “He’s been around the palace for longer than I’ve been knighted. No one’s ever seen his face, so one can’t tell just how old he is, but I’m sure he must be considerably aged, by now.” 

Mason’s brow lifted. Even if that sorcerer was working for Wilfor, it must have been music to Mason’s ears to hear of another sorcerer’s being. The mage replied, “Well, if you see him, tell him he knows where to find me.”

Mason’s eyes suddenly landed on Eric’s arm, the one he had sliced open himself, and took it hastily into his hands. He shed the armor to get a closer look, and despite not having his consent, Eric let the mage do what he pleased. “You’re going to bleed all over my floor at this rate, and you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“I’ll be fine, I promise-” Eric was cut off as Mason shushed him, and the mage grabbed a chair from the corner to put it in front of the knight and grab a bowl separate from the one he’d been fiddling with before. “Really, it isn’t necessary-”

“Quiet. How did this wound come to be?” Mason asked as he undid the flimsy bandages Eric had wrapped without help. 

“I forgot to pack ink,” Eric replied nonchalantly. Mason gave him a blank look for a rather drawn-out moment before proceeding in his work, scooping the honey-like substance from the bowl and gently lathering it over Eric’s wound. The knight hissed in retaliation, his fist clenching in the sorcerer’s grasp. “You’re not even going to clean the blood off, first?”

“The medicine sinks into the skin, and takes anything necessary with it. It’ll purify your blood before it soaks back into your bloodstream. Truly effective for treating wounds, I’d like to think.” John looked over to the honey-like substance once more, his mind suddenly sieged by a distant memory; Smitty, his brush coated in nature’s finest craft of herbs and liquid gold, bristles gliding across his skin with a sharp burn and a soothing sensation directly after. He was sure that, if he wasn’t so exhausted, he could remember that touch, revel in it, remember back when his heart beat for nothing but glory. Now, it beat for a few other things, which he found only made grieving much harder to bear. 

“I need some air,” He decided aloud, standing from the table and speeding towards the door. He heard Jay make a strangled noise in his throat, probably to call after him, but John was sure they were both relieved he held his tongue. 

He shut the door gently behind him to stand alone in the sudden darkness of the forest, the sun just barely shining its last rays across the distant horizon. Even still, the forest was already aglow, teeming with the life of the shadows. If Smitty’s forest had been alight with luminescence, this forest was practically beaming. Fireflies danced around every tree, every bush, every flower, and the moss staining the earth blazed with a plethora of greens, blues and everything in between. The crickets and birds sang their song of nature, the waving of trees in the light wind joining in when it pleased. Somewhere, out in the forest, a stream went about slowly yet surely, sending its melody across the land. 

John, already a great deal more relaxed by the scenery, decided to follow the trail of glowing moss to a small overpass nearby, a still pond beneath. He sat over the drop-off, legs swinging carelessly as he was once again swallowed in worry. 

He must have sat there for ten minutes before he heard the sound of gentle footsteps approaching, wanting to be heard. He knew that, if Jay wanted John to know of his presence, he’d have to make his steps purposeful to ignore the years of training in silence. But even as that silence was broken, John was not vexed nor wary of his being there, welcoming it, more or less.

Jay sat with him at the overpass, not close enough to touch but close enough for comfort. Unspoken words hung in the air for a moment or two before Jay finally spoke. “You feel guilty.”

John swallowed with a tight nod. Jay urged him on with his silence and a knowing look. “Smitty shouldn’t have put his own life on the line for the likes of me.” He concluded. “He’s far more important to this cause than I could ever hope to be.”

Jay furrowed his brow disapprovingly at John before giving a pacific sigh, his hands falling limp in his lap. 

“Do you know what I think?” Jay inclined, gazing out into the dark of the night. John raised his brow and faced him until his discomfort made him turn away. “I think that, without your urging, Smitty never would have agreed to a journey so treacherous with any other person.” Something in his chest panged at his words. “I think you two have been connected from the start, bound to fate by the God Reylon himself. And if I’m not mistaken- which I rarely ever am- He made it your destiny to travel this journey with us, because Reylon knew that what this kind of journey would need is someone like you.”

The words sounded so odd to him after believing for so long that he was worthless compared to the glory of others. Being in the presence of a fairy, and assassin and a knight made him believe this even more so, but even if he hadn’t seen it before, he now realized he’d felt this way for a good portion of his life. So now, hearing that he was worth more than what he’d always thought, he found that he couldn’t believe his ears.

“What would you ever need from me?” John shook his head to himself. “What would Smitty ever need from me? I’ve got nothing to give.”

“Our group needs someone with heart, someone with a driving passion. The three of us never would have gone through Arathian’s Pass if any other would have tried to persuade us.” Jay replied. John felt his cheeks turn red at his praise as his head spin with constant denial of what he was hearing. Even still, his better half fought back against that conditioning, keeping its ears open. 

Jay swallowed. “Smitty needs someone as strong as you to lean on. He’s gone without that comfort for too long, it seems.” John turned to face him again, his eyes threatening to spill with tears. He wanted to believe it. He _had_ to believe it. “He may be powerful, but I can sense he’s grown weak within- or, perhaps, he’s always been that way. With all he’s seen, with all he’s been through- whatever it may be- he needs someone to confide in, someone he can trust.”

Jay turned to him, peering into his very soul. “He wants you to be that someone, John. You give him purpose. You give him hope.” 

A silence befell them before Jay suddenly stood, dusting off his tight-fitting pants before heading back towards the little cottage. Even when John heard the small creak of the door falling shut behind Jay, he only sat there, still, contemplating.

He didn’t want to believe he was so important. He didn’t know _how_ to believe it without seeming pretentious, and he couldn’t comprehend how someone so powerful, so ancient, could ever even consider someone so lowly and utterly mortal to rely on. But if Jay was right- and John already knew he most often was- Smitty was depending on him, and no matter what Smitty asked of him, John knew he would deliver without question. It was the least Smitty deserved for all he’d done.

With this in mind, John made his way back to the cottage to lanterns casting the room aglow, bowls and plates strewn across the table with a much larger plethora of food than before along with it. Mason now had a proper chair, and with one left for him, John took his place, reaching for an apple. The three men carried on with their conversation, welcoming him without acknowledgement.

“...and now, all that’s left to do is get to the Great City and carry on from there.” Jay finished as Mason handed him a buttered roll, and handed another to John soon after. He wasted no time in filling his stomach. He’d learned that he couldn’t be sure when his next full meal would be, so he took the food without complaint.

“Well, you ought to say hello to King Fitz for me! I haven’t seen him since the last summer solstice, after all.” Mason buttered another roll and handed it to Eric before fixing one for himself. He watched as Jay sat forward with interest, setting down his roll on his plate. 

“You’re always welcome to come and say hello to him yourself, you know.” Mason paused, looking at Jay with wide eyes. 

“Are you quite certain?” Mason replied, setting the butter knife on top of the dish. 

“Well, why couldn’t you? You’ve just fed us and treated our wounds, and we could always use another companion for the road.” Eric sat back in his seat, seemingly unopposed to the idea, and John knew he himself wouldn’t be bothered, either. They’d have more luck with a mage on their side.

“Wait, am I accompanying you to Fitz or to the Fane?” Mason held up his hands in a defensive motion.

“You can follow us however far you want to travel.” Jay concluded, then shrugged. “Still, it would be a blessing to have a mage on our side, especially to cope with the cold of the north. That is, if you’re interested-”

“Yes.” Mason’s reply was so swift and blank John barely registered it. “I would very much like to accompany you to the Northern Fane. Our world is dying-” The mage swallowed, the word seemingly hard on his tongue. “-and it can use as many saviors as it can get.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I’d also very much like to get away from my home for a bit. Just to see what everywhere else looks like.”

“Then it is settled,” Eric declared, standing from his seat. “You are now apart of the Company.”

“Where are you going?” Mason told him, his brows furrowed in concern as he stood as well. 

Eric gave him a bewildered look. “Well, we’re leaving. We’re going to the Great City.”

“Not yet, we’re not!” Mason replied, seeming offended by Eric’s words. “You’ve just got here, and you haven’t even rested! You bled all day with that cut on your arm, and you’re in no shape for travel!”

Eric raised a brow as Mason suddenly grabbed his staff and flew past him to the door, opening it and gesturing to the forest beyond. “Come. It’s time for bed, all of you. No exceptions.” Eric opened his mouth to protest, but Mason cut him off. “I said no exceptions!”

No matter how much Eric would want to protest, John wasn’t going to stick around for it, because sleep was practically calling his name as he followed Mason out the door. Jay, as well as a reluctant Eric, followed along behind them until they reached a small pass of tall, winding trees teeming with age. They tied themselves with their trunks like intricate knots as their tops spread to the heavens, and they were pressed so tightly together that only a couple meters was left in space between them.

Mason raised his staff to conjure the thin vines from around the trees, using them to weave intricate hammocks from trunk to trunk, forming a triangle with their placements at the three trees. The hammocks took not even a minute to complete, and John stepped forward to see that the vine-based bedding was actually rather soft yet firm, and he had no doubt he’d be sleeping comfortably that night.

The mage turned back towards the house, his staff again coming alight. “Aurelius! Bring blankets and pillows for our guests!” From the dark came the low response of a moose, and a small group of deer began allowing themselves into the cottage as the moose watched on. Mason turned back to them, brimming with excitement. “I have a shielding spell cast around the area to ward of insects and pesky creatures, so I can promise, your sleep won’t be disturbed.”

The deer and the moose retrieved the blankets and pillows and threw one each into the hammock before Mason excused them, and no later excused himself, as well. They climbed into their hammocks, and John realized just how exhausted he was in that moment. He’d just lived through the most terrifying experience of his life earlier that day- he was going to be a bit worn out, one could imagine.

As he drifted off, he thought of Smitty- the pure, golden, gorgeous being, now maimed by Arathian’s anger for John’s unworthy sake. But this time, as he thought about the fairy, his thoughts of self-doubt and hatred began to melt away into fantasies, believing, if only for a moment, that Smitty really depended on him, confided in him. And, although he knew it would only ever remain a hopeful fable, he dreamed of Smitty sharing John’s feelings- dreamed that Reylon fated them to be more than they already were.

But they were only dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cool so its been like a month bc my schedule got REALLY packed with performance after performance for band, choir and drama, so this one kinda took a while to bust out but HEY my lil baby mason's here now and hes a powerful son of a bitch so yall gotta love him or else. also the song i linked is basically gonna be his theme song, not a song describing the chapter, i just thought it sounded cool, sue me
> 
> so john is just real sad bc he feels guilty for smitty sacrificing himself and jay can easily read people so they talked and now john is still super in love with smitty but he thinks it cant ever happen but thats why we have FANFICTION so youll just have to be PATIENT because angst is PAINFUL but thats part of the PROCESS
> 
> anyway fitz is in the next chapter


	10. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Reunited" by Audiomachine [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gua_5NCY4ZQ).

“That should be everything!” Mason called, shutting the cottage door behind him. John finished strapping the last bag of supplies to the saddle, having a plethora more with all the mage had lent them. Maps, compasses, food, medicine, daggers, coats- they were more than ready for a journey north. Not only that, but Mason had beckoned two moose for the journey, each easily carrying more than the two horses were. He felt much more at ease now that they were so prepared. 

The sun had just risen not too long ago, but even with as much time as they had to reach the Great City by noon, they still worked tirelessly to pack, each person seemingly wanting to arrive at their destination sooner than the next. John still wasn’t sure just what kind of relationship Eric had with King Fitz, but by how swiftly he was moving, he could tell that the knight wanted to reach the Great City more than anyone else in the company.

Mason was dressed in robing drastically different than before; while his other clothes were worn with the unique charm of age and flare only from the cape, he now bore great silks of a deep purple, embroidered and studded with gold and jewels. The underlayer, being the much more decorated of the two layers, hugged Mason’s torso like a thick, conservative dress and opened at the bottom, allowing only a sliver of his legs to be shown through the slits hiking at the sides. Atop of this he wore a hooded cape that bellowed behind him, a sheer shade of black with small silver specks to give the impression of the night sky. Around his neck was a scarf to match the gown, and as the mage prepared his steed, he pulled it upwards to cover his mouth while covering his eyes with a studded mask.

“What is his clothing for?” John whispered to Jay beside him. “And why does he cover his face?”

“I’m not sure. It must have something to do with his status as the presumed August Sorcerer. Perhaps it’s tradition to keep themselves covered?” Jay shrugged as he did final inventory checks atop his steed.

Mason had sent a hawk with a note before daybreak to Fitz, alerting the king of their coming. Mason proclaimed that they would arrive at noon, but by how fast they’d packed, they may just arrive sooner. Jay mounted the smaller of the two moose, seeming somewhat excited to, and just as John was about to mount his horse, he was hit with a realization: Mason hadn’t yet been formally inducted into the Company.

“Eric,” John spoke to the man beside him, placing a hand on the knight’s armor. “Mason hasn’t gone through the Company’s ceremony.”

Eric raised his brows as he looked to Mason, sliding his glove on before turning back to John. “Well, you ought to induct him, then.”

“Wh- me?” John stammered, placing a hand over his chest. Eric only nodded as Jay approached on the moose.

“You’re the one leading this expedition,” Jay informed him. “And since Smitius isn’t here to fulfill his role, the duty has been left to you, his right hand.” 

John tried to protest when Jay called out to Mason, trotting forward on his moose. After the two shared a small bout of hushed words, the mage quickly fell to his knee before John, laying down his staff before him without question. John could only stand there for a moment, stunned, before he finally drew his sword.

“Um…” He looked to Eric, but the knight only urged him on with a look that could only be described as proud. John hesitantly placed the sword on Mason’s right shoulder and cleared his throat. His only thought before beginning, was that he was completely unworthy of conducting an induction ceremony.

“In the name of Velios, I, Jonathan Keyes of Vale,” He began, cringing at the short and utterly dull title, no grandness to his name. “Hereby incruit thee into the Company of the Fane’s Pursuit.” He let out a quivered breath as he continued: “You shall accompany us to the Northern Fane in our quest of seeking an end to Erestia’s plague.”

Taking the sword from Mason’s shoulder and sheathing it once more, John commanded: “Rise.”

The mage took his staff and stood, bowing when he made it to his feet. Mason smiled before heading back to his steed, leaving John frozen in place until Eric clapped him on the back. 

“Well done, Sir John.” As the knight walked away, John felt buzz of excitement in his chest, and he smiled to himself in content as he mounted his horse. As they finally set off, the bulk of John’s doubt had been swept away, and he found himself eager to tell Smitty of all that had happened in the near day since they’d last seen him. 

They charged, and for five hours they went northward. John could feel the ancient aura in the very earth calling to him as they neared closer and closer to the Great City, the trees winding with their branches twisted from age and the ground greened from eternity. As the sun finally hit the top of the sky, he could see a looming wall peeking through the trees in the far distance. It was only when Eric saw this that they urged their steeds into a sprint to follow after his relentless pace.

Entering a clearing, they stood on the path directly before the colossal, looming gates to the city, its barrier made of some ancient steel that practically screamed its impenetrance. From the top of the gate, a soldier decked in armor not too different from Eric’s looked down to them, and disappeared again with sudden intensity.

When the guard returned, he held a large, elegantly carved horn in his hands, and began to play a low song to them. John furrowed his brow in bewilderment as he saw Eric’s shoulders go slack ahead of them. “What’s happening?” He questioned, turning to Jay beside him.

Jay looked up at the guard, clutching the reins as a smile spread across his face. “It’s the song of the Warrior Returning Home,” He proclaimed, facing the knight ahead of them. “They play it for you, Sir Eric.”

Just as Jay spoke, the gates began to slowly slide open, and as if the moose had been smacked on its rear end, Eric suddenly whipped his horse forward, shooting into the city beyond. John barely had time to register what was happening when Mason then shot after him, and Jay called to John to urge them onward.

They struggled to keep up with Eric as the knight was so far ahead, but they had no trouble seeking clear passage, as any elves in the streets quickly made way to stand in the sidelines. Seeing their guests, they suddenly began to cheer as they rode swiftly passed, heading straight towards the towering palace at the city’s center. John barely registered it as the people began to cry, “The King’s Consort has returned!”

Eric was now nearly out of sight with how far away he’d managed to get, and was now climbing the large stairs on horseback that led up to the palace. His steed refused to falter as they charged upwards to where palace guards now opened the large, elaborately decorated doors at the top, and just as they began their ascent upwards, Eric disappeared from sight, riding straight into the highest house of Feradonia.

When they reached the top, they were halted before the doors by a small group of elvish soldiers. The elf in front, who he assumed to be the leader judging by the golden sash across his armored chest, seemed just as tall as Mason’s steed with the other elves being not too much shorter. They each wore matching silver armor with distinct swirls engraved into them, each telling a different story. Their straight hair seemed to cascade down their backs, brushed behind their pointed ears with small braids here and there. John’s first full glance at an elf was exactly how he thought it would be: excitingly overwhelming.

Mason was quick to trot forward to meet them, holding his wand back to them as a sign to stop and wait. The guards conducted a flourished, elvish bow before their leader spoke, “We have been expecting your arrival, our Great August Sorcerer. Allow us to take you to the High Mathias, First Adviser to the King.”

As Mason slid off his steed, Jay, next to John, struggled to intervene. “I’m sorry, I was given the impression that we’d be seeing the Great King Fitz himself?”

The leader waved a hand, and his subordinates moved to take the reins from them as they each slid off their steeds. “Well, as we have just been told moments ago by His Majesty himself, he shall be in a private audience with the Knighted Sir Eric until further notice, and that all command shall be given by Lord Mathias. Now, if you would come right this way, we should be on our way to meet him.”

John allowed the guards to carry his things, seeing no real use in arguing, though the gesture felt somewhat foreign to him. He trailed behind Mason into the palace without question, and found himself marvelling at the wondrous scenery he was wrapped into; towering pillars that held a ceiling seemingly a mile above them, ancient and carved with languid, pointless swirls. Between the vast space between the pillars, to either side of them, were huge, open doorways, leading to halls seemingly alike but each with its own unique charms in color and distinct design. At the far end of the corridor, which must have been half a mile away, was a pair of gargantuan doors, the elvish symbol of the moon depicted upon it. Light streamed in from the stained glass acting as a ceiling, depicting a chaotic, red war scene with a shining silver figure in the middle, holding his sword before the moon: King Fitz.

The towering doors at the end of the corridor slid open with a foreboding creak, and from it, a figure draped in lavish and bellowing gowns emerged, approaching with anxious speed. The oncoming elf wringed his hands before him, his hands, neck, hair and wrists decked with silver ornaments to compliment the emerald green of his gowns. He finally stopped before them, forcing his hands to his sides as he nodded to the guards.

“My August Sorcerer,” The elf bowed, though not quite as deeply as the guards had. “It is a pleasure to once again be of your acquaintance. I must apologize on behalf of His Majesty for his not being here, but I shall serve in his place until further notice.” The elf cleared his throat, straightening his back. “I am Mathias, First Adviser to the King. I’ve been instructed to take you to your awaiting companion, and then to your quarters. Please, follow me.”

With introductions out of the way, John once again followed, somewhat bewildered at Mason’s lack of speech. It was even more odd when considering how conservatively the mage had covered himself. He hadn’t said a single word since they’d reached the city, and the guards and Lord Mathias seemed to speak all unsaid words for him. Very odd, indeed.

Mathias led them into one of the prodigious halls, the light once again streaming in through the ceiling’s stained glass, this time depicting a woman with a bear at her side and a glowing staff in her hand. From her red gown and her staff with a silver snake coiled around it, John was able to recognize her as Manathey, Goddess of Medicine and Healing. He could only assume that the closed doors on either side of them were healing wards. 

Now that John was here, just moments away from seeing Smitty again, he found himself more nervous than relieved. What was one to say to another that saved their lives by risking their own? A simple “thank you” would never suffice, as it seemed to him that words couldn’t cast away the debt he owed. A heavy feeling settled over his chest as Mathias stopped before one of the doors, a great deal smaller than the ones before had been.

Mathias knocked gently on the door, and it wasn’t too long until a woman answered, dressed in a flowing white gown with hair so blonde it nearly matched the dress’ hue. She stepped back to allow them into the room with a smile and a flourish of an arm. “He’s just awoken. We competed the last of the weaving this morning. 

Jay, who would have been the first to enter, instead looked to John and gestured to the room. John began to wobble on his legs as he accepted the offer, clearing his throat as he stepped into the doorway.

Smitty laid on the bed with his wings sprawled out to touch the floor were it not for the boxes that propped them up. Lying on his stomach, his arms were tucked beneath the pillow, and although he could no longer see where the lava had scarred him on his skin, the holes burnt through his wings were plain to see; the areas damaged had been sewn up with some kind of silk or string, vaguely matching the color of the untainted wing around it but not quite blending as it should. They had mimicked the pattern of his wings to a tee, but that wouldn’t excuse the clear inclination that Smitty had been badly injured.

For a moment, John only stood wordlessly staring, unsure as to whether or not he was welcome. Smitty took a moment to gather his words before he croaked: “John.” His hand slid out from beneath the pillow to slowly inch in John’s direction, tears forming in Smitty’s eyes. “Come, please.”

John took cautious steps to his side, eyes unmoving from Smitty’s as he sat down at the edge of the bed. Hearing the shuffling of feet and a door quietly clicking closed, he knew they were now alone, but his nerves and worries still left him on edge. Smitty took John’s hand, and he felt himself releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

John swallowed, his eyes now downcast towards his feet. “I’m sorry,” He choked, casting his attention back to the fairy. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for my wrongdoings.”

Smitty’s brow furrowed. “Whatever do you mean? You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“I was wrong in not doing anything at all.” John admitted, squeezing Smitty’s hand. Even with the state of the rest of his body, Smitty’s hand was still soft, and forgiving, and kind. He didn’t deserve it. “I only laid there and watched you sacrifice yourself in my titleless name.”

Smitty gave him a sorrowful look, doused in pity and drowning in dejection at his words. “John, I would not have done so were it not worth it.”

“So what makes me “worth it?”” John retorted, his voice rising just slightly as he gripped Smitty’s hand tighter. “I have nothing to give you, nor this company, nor Erestia!” Tears began to gather in his eyes as he rambled on. “I have no beasts, or magic, or skill- all I have is this damned sword that I don’t know how to use-”

“John.” Smitty spoke, his voice commanding and deep. He’d used the same voice to inaugurate Jay and Eric, a tone that demanded utmost attention, one that was nearly impossible to ignore. But as he spoke afterwards, his voice was filled with endearment, and his eyes were filled with sadness: “You are worth every scar, every tear, every miniscule drop of pain I have ever come to bear. You need no great title or ability to be as such- you simply are, and that is enough.”

John’s face was now stained red with his tears and the blood rushing to his cheeks, yet he couldn’t look anywhere but Smitty’s gaze. A choked sound came out of his mouth before he concluded: “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then make no sound,” Smitty retorted, giving a weak chuckle as he smiled. John could see glimmers of magic in the tear that slid down the fairy’s face. “I would rather have you in silence, than not have you at all.”

John bent down until his forehead rested gently against Smitty’s hair, and he heard the fairy give a pleased sigh beneath him. It took all of his restraint not to press a kiss to his hair. “Thank you,” He whispered, squeezing Smitty’s hand once more. “ _Thank you_.”

Afterward, he and Smitty sat in silence, their hands still entwined as they basked in each other’s presence. It wasn’t in the least bit awkward, as odd as it was, and John found himself tearing down walls he hadn’t realized he’d built around himself- walls that kept him from allowing himself what he’d been craving, crumbling at just the feel of Smitty’s hand in his. He allowed himself time, and selfishness, despite knowing what he truly craved would never be his.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed there until the door opened again. Mathias swallowed as he twiddled his thumbs before speaking. “I dearly apologize, Sir John, but our nurses must now change His Greatness’ bandaging. It should take no more than an hour.”

John looked to Smitty hesitantly, unwilling to pull away, but the fairy only smiled upwards at him. “All will be well, dearest. There is no need to worry over me.”

John gave him the best smile he could muster, though it fell the moment their hands went loose. He stood and adjusted the sword at his hip, turning back to Smitty only as he was leaving with Mathias ahead of him.

“I’ll see you soon,” He called gently, watching as Smitty’s hand clutched the place where JOhn had been sitting just moments before. 

“Until then.”

John followed Mathias down the towering hall, his hand clutched over the hilt of his sword. Ahead of him, Mathias spoke (though rather softly): “Your company has already been escorted to their designated chambers to which where I am now directing you. I can tell you are weary from your travels, are you not?”

John nodded before he realized Mathias couldn’t see him. “I think I just need rest.”

“Well, you are more than welcome to sleep as long as you require.” Mathias suddenly turned a corner to another large hall, this one seeming to be more for connecting places to another rather than having a set purpose like the healing wards. “However, dinner will be served later this evening where His Majesty may make an appearance. Would you prefer a servant to be sent to your room to guide you to the dining hall?”

“No, that’s...fine.” With his fatigue setting in, John already knew he wouldn’t have an appetite for a while. He hadn’t had an appetite for many days, now that he thought about it. But even as he knew he should eat something, he only longed for some much-needed sleep.

They continued on, down hall after hallway, up step after staircase, until they’d reached what he thought to be the fourth level of some area deep within the palace. Here, the windows were large with only polished stone walls to separate the walkway from a towering drop-off. The end of the hall was a dead one, and Mathias lead him to the room closest to it, taking a large, stuffed ring of keys from his spacious sleeve and finding the given one with ease. The elf opened the door and stepped back, extending a welcoming arm into the room.

When John entered, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, seeing the large, lavish bed before him with an open balcony and gold-lined _everything_ , and found himself looking back to Mathias who stood patiently in the doorway.

“There is clothing in your wardrobe. Our tailors only had a brief glance at you and your company, so if your robing doesn’t fit or isn’t to your satisfactory, please, do not be afraid to alert us at once.” Mathias twiddled his thumbs once more, and it was hard to imagine someone so pent up with nerves would be First Adviser to a king. Still, John could see the goodness in him, and assumed a gracious king would look for nothing more.

“Thank you.” John replied, and Mathias wasted no time in closing the door and scurrying off. John let himself give a sigh, the fatigue now settling in as he undid the belt tying his sword to his waist. He set it on a nearby table and opened the wardrobe, finding a wide selection of elvish adornments, each cascading to the ground in various sizes at the bottom while seemingly tight-fitted towards the top. Each had its own distinct pattern and hue, no two alike in the slightest, with trimmings of silver, bronze and gold, their sleeves gaping just as he’d seen Mathias’. Come had collars, others had capes at their shoulders, attached or not. He managed to tear his eyes away from it all to pluck a white gown out, nightwear made of finer silk than he’d ever touched in his life. As he stripped from his travelling clothes and slipped the gown on, he thought to himself that it may just be too fine to sleep in.

He slipped beneath the covers of the extravagant bed he’d been given. He thought of nothing soft skin and scarred wings as he fell into his slumber.

~#~

John’s first glimpse of the world, upon waking, was a sky turned dark, even as it had been high noon just moments ago, it seemed. John groaned and ignored the rumbling in his stomach as he fought his way out of the comfort of the bed. He must have missed dinner, he reckoned, but he still longed to see Smitty. Finding a pair of slippers by the bed, he left the room without another thought, his fatigue following close behind.

He made his way down the hall to the stairs he’d recalled traveling before, but once he reached the bottom, he came to realize that he had no idea which way to turn next. He’d thought of nothing but Smitty on his way to his chambers, and could now barely recall the path he’d taken to get to his chambers. He did know, however, that he was now on what he assumed to be the third floor, but as he carried on, he found that there were many sets of stairs, many looking quite alike.

He decided that moving along would get him a better chance at finding the healing wards than standing still would do, so he took the nearest set of stairs he could find, and then the next to reach what he assumed to be the first floor. But as he looked around at his surroundings, he couldn’t identify a single portrait or pillar surrounding him. He must have gone much deeper into the palace than planned. The only thing lighting the halls were dim, white torches blazing on the walls.

He began to walk, and wandered aimlessly until he found himself in another colossal hall, this one with more stained glass pictures making up the entire left wall with semi-circles of clear glass panes to let moonlight stream in, illuminating the portraits hanging on the opposite side. The stained glass detailed images of great, almost holy figures- elves, most certainly past kings and queens, decked in jewelry and lavish gowns. Upon their heads, they each wore the same adornment- the towering crown of silver antlers, thought to be sawn off and crafted from the Silver Stag. If what he’d read about was true, the first elvish queen- bearing the same blood of their current king- proved herself worthy of the throne by eating the heart of the stag and placing its antlers upon her own head. Many believed it to only be a fable, but no one could deny that the king’s bloodline had always lived millions of years longer than the other elves, and be born to much more powerful magic than them. 

He knew he’d found the image of that queen when the moment he laid eyes on it- a towering woman, dressed in nothing but the dull cloth at the dawn of the elves’ creation, the crown of antlers adorning her long, black hair. Unlike the other glorious and serene images, this queen bore nothing but fierce confidence and rage. Even through shards of glass, John could still feel the influence she’d left on those ancient halls.

Across from her image, he found another towering set of doors, just as tall as those to the throne room (if not larger). Upon it was the image of a man and a woman on either door, the former wielding a platinum bow while the latter bore a matching arrow on opposite sides of the structure. Around the two figures were swirling silver whisps, much like the ones he’d seen on the pillars of the main hall, dancing about to form ancient celestial symbols above their heads. John found himself oddly unable to look away.

“It truly is a marvel, isn’t it?” John snapped his head to his left to find an elf standing there, towering over him at a seemingly six and a half feet tall. He was dressed in a white gown, much like the one John was wearing, but this one seemed to be less of a nightshirt and more of an artwork. It tailed meters behind him in fine silk, tight around his torso with sleeves so large they nearly draped to the floor. His stark blonde hair cascaded down his back, and upon his head was a crown of silver leaves, seeming too magnificent to be real. With all this, it was the man’s complexion that stuck out the most; even with his back facing the windows, his fair, pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, creating an aura of serenity and an ancient kind of energy around him. John hadn’t heard the stranger approach, nor had he felt his nearing presence in the slightest. His body went naturally to a defensive state, but as the man only gazed up at the image alongside him, John stayed still. He somehow knew this man had no harmful intentions.

Swallowing, John turned his attention back to the door. “Quite.”

“Most who have stumbled upon these doors have been drawn to it without even realizing,” The stranger told him. “Even after a million years, I am still pulled to it all the same.”

John found himself steadily coming to peace with the stranger’s presence, and found that he didn’t really fear it, anyway. The stranger himself seemed glad to be in John’s company, his expression fond and content as his eyes remained glued to the doors ahead. John turned back to it and found himself wanting to see through them. What was behind the doors that he felt so drawn to, he wondered?

“What’s inside?” John pondered aloud, not sure if he was searching for an answer or wanting to leave himself mystified by what lay beyond. “Why are we drawn here?”

“It is a vault,” The man informed him, “holding some of Erestia’s most grand and ancient artifacts and treasures. Inside is Feradonia’s claim to wealth, gathered by our ancestors, guarded only by our finest defense.”

His vague words left unknown meanings, but before John could ask, the stranger continued: “You are searching for your friend, are you not?”

When John turned to reply, he found that the stranger was now looking down at him, his eyes a piercing blue. It took him a moment to gather his words and reply, “How did you know?”

The stranger smiled and turned back to the door. “I knew the moment you entered my palace that you were here not to rest, but to reconcile with your Great Smitius. And even as you know deep within you that you have no wrongdoings to repent for, you still seek his forgiveness, if only to have his company all the while.”

John wasn’t sure how this man knew more about him than he knew himself, but he did know that, as much as he wanted to deny it, the stranger was right. It was odd to him how untouched he felt, even as this stranger dug down into his very soul to harvest the truth from its keeping, as if he’d been wanting it to happen, waiting for it. Everything about his current state in space and time just felt _right_.

He turned back to gazing at the doors, silent, contemplating. He wasn’t sure how long they stood in silence until finally he asked, “Who is this picture depicting? And why are they holding those weapons?”

The stranger’s smile grew warmer- fonder, almost. “That is the previous King Fariah with his Queen Samaria. The weapons they hold were forged from a piece of their souls, as all Elvish monarchs are expected to do.” John suddenly thought of the spear Eric wielded. Jay had called it the ‘Elven Spear of Fitz.’ Had that been one of the instruments the stranger spoke of? “They are unique, however. While only the throned monarch is expected to carry out this task, Fariah and Samaria crafted their weapons to only function with the other, putting pieces of their souls in both. 

“The bow and arrow are both indestructible, but the arrow will take no other bow, and the bow will have no other arrow. When shot, the arrow is destined to reach its target, and will always return to its other half. And as they came to pass, their weapons were placed in this very vault, side by side.” The stranger smiled at him. “Quite symbolic, wouldn’t you say?”

John nodded. “They must have truly loved each other.”

“That they did,” The stranger replied. It was only seconds later when the man placed his gentle hand on John’s bicep, a rush of energy filling him in an instant until he felt wide awake. The energy was ancient, and raw, and sent an odd sensation down his spine. He looked up at the stranger for an explanation, but he only led John down the hall, away from the door. “Come, I shall take you to Smitius. He isn’t too far.”

John allowed himself to be led along, relaxing after the sudden burst of energy. As weird as it was, he made no move to peel the stranger’s hand from his arm, albeit he would only have to nudge it to knock it off with how loose his grip was. As they stepped into the main hall John had first entered from, he asked the man, “Your current King Fitz- his weapon is the Elven Spear, yes?”

“Indeed it is.” The stranger smiled again. 

“If it was made by Fitz, then why does Sir Eric wield it and not he?”

“Fitz gifted the spear to him as a parting gift six years ago,” He explained. “He forged it from his own soul, but at his offering, Sir Eric also put part of his own soul inside, as well. They were unsure as to when they would see each other again, and so Fitz left him with his spear, and Sir Eric left him with a promise of his hand upon his return.”

John had been about to ask what the last part had meant when the stranger suddenly stopped, and he found himself outside Smitty’s healing ward, all question cleared from his mind. He swallowed as he turned to the stranger, giving a bow. In respect. “Thank you for helping me. I would have wandered about all night if you hadn’t helped me here.”

“There is no need to bow, Sir John. You are a guest in my home.” John nodded and turned to the door, hand on the handle, before he suddenly thought of what the stranger just said.

“What do you mean, “my home-?”” When he turned back, however, he found that the stranger had already disappeared, leaving nothing but the stillness and John’s past state of fatigue behind. He stood wordlessly for a moment before he gathered his senses and entered the room.

Smitty was laid upon the bed just as he had been before, and while John’s first assumption was that his friend now slept, he opened his eyes at the creaking of the door and gave John a fond smile. John couldn’t help but grin himself as he approached the edge of the bed, sitting just as he had previously, resting his hands in his lap. The moon streamed in through the open balcony, illuminating Smitty like fine silk. His wings were aglow once again, dripping with magic, and as he looked to the areas that had been restitched, he could see how the material the nurses had used seemed to shine along with it, sticking out like a sore thumb yet charming all the same. 

“Who were you speaking to just now?” Smitty asked in a low voice, looking as if he already knew the answer. 

“I’m not sure. I forgot to ask.” The fairy hummed in reply, digging his cheek further into the fluffed pillows. He looked utterly serene, like polished silver in a stream of cool water. It was an odd image, but John couldn’t compare him to anything less than treasure. “I got lost trying to find you, so he aided me here. I’m sure I’ll get lost on the journey back up, as well.”

“So why don’t you stay?” Smitty proposed. John’s brows raised, his nails digging into the soft fabric of his gown as he struggled for a reply. But as his friend gazed up at him, John remembered that he wasn’t expected to speak. Smitty already knew his answer as he lifted a wing, slowly but surely, in invitation.

There was no hesitation as John slipped beneath the covers. He laid himself upon his stomach and buried his arm beneath the pillow as he felt the wing lay itself gently over him, surprisingly heavier than it looked. He didn’t mind the weight, though. It grounded him more than anything.

Smitty took John’s hand in his before practically whispering, “It’s so odd, how close I feel I’ve become to you after such a short amount of time.” John nodded, but he continued. “Back in the pass...I saw you in harm’s way, and I didn’t even hesitate to throw myself before the fire. But it brought up something in me- I know you saw it, too.”

John hesitated, then nodded.

Smiling as his eyes grew wet, Smitty whimpered, “You helped me fly again, John.”

John squeezed his hand in warm reassurance. He wasn’t going to deny it, not when Smitty looked so honest, so truthful. He could see that Smitty was absolutely certain, and he could see just how deeply he truly cared for John. He wasn’t going to ignore it out of his own selflessness again- he couldn’t.

“You managed to open some ancient pool of magic within me,” Smitty told him. “I was ready to face the possibility that I may never have any purpose for these wings again. But to have felt that freedom again, even at that time, unbound to the earth…” Smitty shook his head in disbelief. “...I am eternally indebted to you, even if that is the last time I am to fly. Thank you.”

John smiled, swallowing before he spoke: “I owe you my life, Smitty. You’ve saved me from certain death at least three times, by now.”

“Then I guess our debts may as well be canceled out.” Smitty joked. John chuckled at it, but he knew they both considered it, right then, to be truth. There was to be no debt held over one another. There was nothing to drive them but the strange, mystical bond that tied them together, despite the world crumbling beyond the little bubble they had crafted for themselves.

Smitty slid closer over the sheets, if only an inch, and John found himself wanting to be closer even still. In any case, he took what he could get, and squeezed Smitty’s hand once more for comfort as his eyes slipped closed. He felt his fatigue pulling him down closer to the mattress, and melted beneath the warmth radiating from the body next to him, savoring it. He couldn’t be sure if he’d ever get to be so close again. 

“Good night, John,” Smitty whispered. John mumbled something that could have been the same words in reply, or perhaps it was just a low jumble of sounds. Either way, he was sure Smitty got the message.

That night, he dreamt of starlight and glistening pools of clear, ancient water. By the pool’s edge, drinking from its depths, was a silver stag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U ALREADY KNO WHO IT IS!!!!!!!!!! but shhh we're not gonna say his name, he's supposed to be MYSTICAL (until the next chapter, shhh) but i have a lot more planned for him, i promise he isnt just one of those characters that pops up like an ass to give wisdom and leave forever!!!! i aint that mean when ive been building up to his introduction since chapter 6!!!!!!!!! and dont worry, youre gonna learn a lot more about he and eric later on!!!!!! im just so EXCITED to introduce him if you cant tell by the obscene amount of exclamation marks im using!!!!!!! but you also have ya boy matt, inut, whatever you wanna call him, just a big ticking bomb of nervousness bc he's just so damn stressed out, i love him!!!!
> 
> i should probably explain before shit gets confusing: RAYlon is that centaur from the fifth chapter. REYlon is the god of fate that'll come into play later. it's kinda like how people name their kids after people from the bible (john, mary, yadayadaya) but people in erestia go as far as to name their kids after the gods (would you name your kid Jesus? didn't think so). i just needed to add more to the lore, it felt like. gotta shape a world somehow am i RIGHT? but this is also important bc reylon has an important part later on, stay tuned for more i guess idk
> 
> also, im very seriously considering having a sequel to this story. it'll be after the story ends with a whole new set of characters. im planning on having it h2ovanoss with the BBS instead of krii7y and the misfits, but get this: it'll be about pirates. same universe, completely different story-line. i cant tell you much more than that without possibly spoiling this story, but would any of you be interested in that pirate-y sort of thing? i also have another idea for an h2ovanoss fic, if any of yall are willing to go from high fantasy straight into sci-fi, but we wont get into that just yet. i honestly have no idea what im gonna write after this fic is done (which, judging by how much i have planned, we're barely halfway through smh)
> 
> i honestly cant tell yall this enough, but thank you so much for your feedback and high praise!!!! i honestly dont deserve it!!!!! you guys really do help fuel my passion for this fic, and i just get so incredibly happy when i see that someone's left me a comment, no matter how short or in-depth it is!!!!!! thank you all so, SO much!!!!!!!!!


	11. Lonely Are the Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Lonely Are the Brave" by Two Steps From Hell [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25v3SZWw_CY).

In the beginning, there was nothing- and then, there was everything.

From the void, two great forces were birthed from darkness: Creation, and Her sister, Destruction. They were not Gods, but instead all that was, all there would one day be, and all that had been before them. To set the Great Clock of Time into motion, Creation birthed Reylon, God of Fate and Allfather of the Universe. Reylon made it so that planets were to be formed, and to house his future brothers and sisters, he formed Erestia.

Creation made Reylon’s brothers and sisters as he had planned it to be, and together, they lived on the surface of Erestia for many millions of years. Within this time, Velios gave life to the planet, creating beasts, plants, and above all, the Seven Races: Their firstborn Elves, Dwarves, Merfolk, Giants, Centaurs, Humans, and from the Gods’ own blood, Fairies.

However, after the birth of these races, the Gods realized that they no longer had room to contain their power, and because of this, Reylon made it so that Creation made the Heavens, their endless realm to rule Erestia from. To ensure that the magic Velios used to create life would not go to waste, Reylon made it so that the Underworld came to be, where living souls would reside as their energy is recycled upon Erestia’s surface. 

As Reylon made it so that Velios would rule the Heavens, Velios himself deemed the Death God Arathian to rule the Underworld, with only their own children, the fairies, to preserve life upon Erestia. Reylon made it so that a single gateway was created between realms, the Northern Fane, within what is now Grentor, Land of Giants. 

Although the Gods now had a bridge between realms, none but Reylon walked across it, as the Gods’ own selfishness and greed kept them bound idly to their thrones. Only Reylon keeps the cogs of time and fate turning, and only he wears a true crown amongst all.

~#~

John awoke to the sight of Smitty standing at his balcony, the light of the early morning sun kissing his wings and his fair skin. John sought out the stitched gaps in his wings to realize that they weren’t as easy to find as he’d thought. One wouldn’t see them unless they were looking for them, he reckoned. It made him feel a bit better about himself.

Smitty turned to face him as he peeled the thick covers back, seeming tangled in his gown yet swallowed in its comfort all the same. The fairy smiled at him before moving his gaze back beyond the balcony.

John stood, stretching. “What are you looking at?”

“Jay, and this other fellow.” John joined him, looking down at a large, circular platform that seemed to join many parts of the palace together from outside, its northern edge dropping off to the city below. At first sight, John reckoned that Jay and Mason were sparring against one another, but as he watched closer, he realized they were working together to spar against a group of elvish soldiers dressed in armor. Mason assisted Jay by giving him leverage with vines in the air, and Jay did the same for him by watching his sides. They moved languidly together- a perfect team.

“That’s Mason. He’s the August Sorcerer of the Elwin Pine. He’s just recently joined our company to help us get to the Fane. And, ah…” John swallowed. “...I had to do the honors of inducting him into the company myself. If you see it fit that you do it again for yourself, I honestly don’t mind-”

“I see no better fit to do the honor than yourself, John.” Smitty interrupted before John could give another one of his monologues. He really needed to stop doing that, he told himself. “The company is your creation, after all.”

John could only stare at Smitty in disbelief for a few long moments before allowing himself to smile, his face flushing as his gaze found the ground. He coughed nervously. “Oh. Thank you. It truly...means a lot.”

Smitty placed a delicate hand on his bicep, turning John around to lead them towards the wardrobe across the room. “I think I’d like to go and watch them spar from up close. Would you mind that?”

“No, not at all, but…” Smitty opened the wardrobe, revealing an assortment of clothes much like the ones he found in his own guest room. “...are you sure you’re well enough to be going out in your current state?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” Smitty plucked a white gown amidst a sea of color, but it seemed more suitable for daytime-wear, unlike the white gowns they both currently adorned. “Brace me, would you?”

He furrowed his brow for a moment as Smitty directed John’s arms to his shoulders. Smitty inhaled a sharp breath of air as his wings retracted completely into his body, vanishing. He quickly unwound a lace on his gown, letting it fall in a heap to the floor and slid the new gown over his body. Letting the breath of air go, his wings sprouted from his back, and Smitty quite literally fell forward. John held him steady as Smitty caught his breath.

“I thought you couldn’t retract your wings?” John spoke, his worry only increasing as Smitty began to pant from the exertion. Smitty had been wearing the same outfit for so long, John didn’t realize just how much it cost him to use his magic in such a way. “And why would you insist on completing such a task with your current state?”

Smitty’s breathing grew steady, but his cheeks were still stained red as he attempted to button the gown. He wore nothing but a beige pair of pants beneath it, only reaching down as far as his knees. When John knew Smitty could once again stand on his own, he began aiding him with the buttons. He hadn’t noticed buttons on Mathias’ gown before; perhaps the elves had added them just for Smitty’s sake. He wasn’t sure Smitty could even lift his arms above his head at the moment, not to mention slide a dress over it.

As John fell to his knees to do the last button, Smitty gestured weakly to the wardrobe. “You can find yourself some clothing, if you’d like.”

John stood and dusted off his nightshirt. “Oh, I’m not sure I’d fit into one made for you.”

“Well, you’ve grown more thin than I am over the last couple of weeks.” John furrowed his brow and turned to a mirror not too far away. He bunched up the loose nightshirt to tighten the fabric around his torso to find that he could just nearly see his ribs through it. 

“Oh.” John turned back to the wardrobe, his hand skimming over his options. It seemed only some of them had been given buttons. He chose a deep blue gown with silver trimmings, patterns of elvish lacing adorning the front and cascading down to the floor. The sleeves were quite wide, but he deeply admired the design. That gown was probably worth more than all of the clothes he’d had in Vale combined.

“You can change in the other room. I’ll find us some shoes.” Smitty squeezed his shoulder gently and gestured to the room leading off of the healing ward, a silk curtain dividing the two spaces. 

John briefly turned back to Smitty. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? Do you need to rest?”

“I’m fine, John.” Smitty gave him a weak smile, albeit it was a genuine one, which was enough to reassure him. He ducked into the other room and promptly changed his attire, admiring the way it billowed about his feet when he moved and how it fit so snugly around him. Looking in the mirror, he wasn’t sure he’d ever worn anything that clashed so well with his silver hair. It was an odd thing, admiring the way he looked. He’d never had the time to stop and care about how he looked in the mirror before. He could, however, use a bath, he told himself. But he’d have time for that later.

He stepped out to find Smitty waiting with a pair of shoes that vaguely resembled slippers, but as he took them into his hands, he could feel that the sole was very much sturdy, and slid into them before assisting Smitty with his own. Smitty’s eyes raked over John’s gown with a grin before they found themselves walking through the palace halls and out to the courtyard.

Smitty sat them at a backless bench along the outskirts of the marble platform. Mason and Jay were still deep in their sparring session just beyond. John watched in awe as Mason formed ascending platforms out of rock for Jay to climb, striking the guards from above and ensuring their victory. John wasn’t sure how two people who had just met could be so naturally in tune with one another, but as they fought on, he noticed how just a shared look between the two meant a million words and a single understanding.

“Tell me more about him.” Smitty spoke softly with an expression to match his tone, watching the spar with great content. John folded one leg over and leaned forward onto it.

“He’s one of the last mages of Erestia. Or the last one of all- we can’t be sure. But his family has guarded the Elwin Pine in Fitz’ name for tons of generations, and now it’s his turn since his mom passed, and…” John shook his head to himself. “...he’s been alone for a long time, it seems. I’m not quite sure just how stable he is, nor how trustworthy, but he’s kind, and I can feel his devotion to his forest and our cause.”

Smitty hummed and folded his hands in his lap. “He keeps himself covered rather well, doesn’t he?”

John hummed in reply. Mason, as he’d been before, was decked from head to toe in fine, concealing cloth. “Isn’t he so.”

Smitty turned his head, looking past John, before he braced himself on John’s shoulder to stand to his feet. “I was convinced he wouldn’t appear so early in the morning.”

John turned his head to where Smitty was gazing and stood immediately to his feet when he realized the matter of his current situation. Descending from wide steps leading up to the palace, Eric walked, arm-in-arm, with the man he’d been half-convinced was a dream. They were flanked by guards yet none seemed in the least bit threatened, seeming just as happy and content as the two men they followed. Mathias was close by their side, hands behind his back as he walked steadily after them.

The stranger (though he had a fairly good guess as to who it was, at that point) was now dressed in a robe even more lavish than he’d seen before. The gown didn’t tail nearly as long as his previous one had, merely billowing behind him as he walked, but it still demanded John’s eye all the same. It was a deep, forest green with sleeves so wide they nearly fell to the ground, and a collar that wrapped around his neck with a slit in the front to show off the thick, golden choker necklace beneath it. His entire gown was trimmed with gold to match his jewelry, and bore subtle yet intricate elvish patterns along the chest as it cascaded to its bottom edges. His white hair fell neatly down along his back, and atop of it, sat a towering crown of silver antlers. 

The spar came to a sudden halt as they approached, and Smitty took a gentle hold of John’s arm to lead him towards their host. John felt his chest tighten as he swallowed, now aware that this was the man they had crossed hell’s pit to see, but Mason had no hesitance deeply bowing before him.

“I humbly apologize, for I have made your acquaintance on such short notice, Your Majesty.” Smitty stopped them just a meter away, and the disapproving look on the man’s face was clear.

“You have no business bowing for me, my August Sorcerer.” He replied. Mason stood straight, and the man smiled once more. “It is not often that we get the pleasure of seeing one another. You know very well that there is no need to refer to me by such terms.”

He couldn’t see it, but John could tell that Mason was smiling beneath his cover. “Of course.”

The man smiled back and turned to look directly to John, a mischievous look in his eye. John was sure no one else would have noticed, but they both knew that they had already learned much about each other. Even still, the man still introduced himself with a humble hand over his heart: “I am Fitz, Son of Fariah and Samaria, Ruler of Feradonia,” His smile grew wider as he made a slight bow for John. “King of Elves.”

John bowed nearly as deep as Mason had, placing his right foot in front of the other while doing so (elvish customs weren’t too hard to catch onto, he found). He swallowed when he stood. “I...I’m John.” 

Fitz only smiled knowingly. Eric’s arm slipped from the king’s as he approached John, taking John’s hand between both of his. He noticed the silver band around his ring finger as the knight spoke: “I can’t thank you dearly enough, John. I never would have made it back here without you.”

He suddenly took note of just how much Eric had changed since they’d seen each other the day before. His gown, though less flashy than Fitz’s was, was equally as lavish in red, expensive cloth with a crown of silver leaves atop his head to match. He bore no other jewelry save for the band around his finger, but his eyes gave off enough untamed light to put the rest of the world’s treasures to shame. Eric’s eyes had seemed so dull and lifeless before. In Feradonia, they had once again found purpose and meaning. 

His reply came more naturally than he’d imagined it would. “It’s hardly my onus that you are standing here now. Your feats belong to no one but yourself.” John squeezed his hand. It was hard and calloused, yet pleasantly warm. “I can only thank you again for giving us a way of passage. I wholeheartedly believe that there has never been a braver man than yourself for guiding us through hell at such short notice.”

Eric gave an airy laugh, perhaps the first and only genuine one John had seen come upon his lips. “Well, we have much more hell to go through once we reach the tundra of Grentor, but I’ll be more than glad to lead you there, anyhow.”

Without giving John a chance to comment on his statement, Eric turned back to Fitz, who had just finished a low conversation with Smitty and Mason. The king extended his arm towards the palace behind him. “I have heard much of your mission and your journey so far. Would you all care to discuss it further over breakfast?”

John looked to Eric in disbelief once again before nodding, but the knight didn’t seem to notice his gaze as he looped his arm back through the king’s. He’d assumed Eric would stay in Feradonia whilst they continued onward. Of course, he couldn’t object if Eric felt obligated to carry on with the Company (they had formally recruited him, after all) but hadn’t he been through enough? Eric had just relived his past trauma of charging his way through Arathian’s Pass after five years of being separated from his partner. Wouldn’t he want to finally settle for peace?

Smitty took a gentle hold of his arm again, and when John turned to face him with a worried glance, Smitty only smiled, and led them up the stairs back towards the palace after Eric and King Fitz. Mason and Jay chatted happily behind them (he could tell that Mason wasn’t used to talking in the slightest, but Jay was good at keeping the conversation going) while the royal couple walked in content silence ahead. 

The whole of Feradonia just seemed too enchanted to let John properly ground himself, and instead left him floating. He knew that he should feel at peace and give himself time to breathe, but the world around him, compared to the world he’d just been ripped from, felt too illusory. The morning sun, the veil of content covering the Great City, Smitty safe and well by his side- it couldn’t be anything but a fable, it seemed. But John could feel the winds of change coming to blow. He knew better than most that nothing lasted forever.

A pair of guards ahead of the group led them to a gargantuan dining hall, the light from the gold chandeliers illuminating the room in its bronze glow. The tapestries on the wall depicted more elvish history, each divided by large, stone columns and stretching from the curved ceiling to the floor. At the head of the expansive table, behind the throne-like chair he could only assume belonged to the king, a final tapestry was hung, depicting the elves’ sacred silver dragon: wings spread, jaws open, talons bared. From the stories he’d been told, the dragon had been born from the moon, and had served the Elven Monarchs since the First Queen had built her own throne from silver. They had bonded, and as monarchs passed while the moon dragon reigned immortal, it served alongside one ruler to the next. At least, that was what the stories had told him. It couldn’t have been more than a myth, otherwise it would still be around, John reckoned.

As they were led to the head of the table, another chair, just as lavishly royal as Fitz’s, was brought out of nowhere and placed next to the other at the table’s head. Fitz and Eric took their seats, with Mason and Jay to their right while Smitty, taking the backless chair that was offered, led him to sit to the couple’s left. Mathias took his place standing by Fitz’s side, still as silent as he had arrived. The morning’s feast was already laid out before them, still steaming from the kitchens, and John had to consider just how long he’d gone without properly eating. Hadn’t he had an apple on the way to the Great City? Or perhaps that had been that morning…

“Go on, you may all feast. I’m sure you will all enjoy what our chefs have prepared for us today,” The king declared. Jay and Eric seemed to be the only ones perfectly willing to take what was offered. Fitz gave Mason an expectant look until he finally removed the cover from his mouth, leaving the rest, and Smitty only took a small bit of fruit to at least be kind to their host. John didn’t have an appetite, even though he knew for a fact that he was famished, and for the first time during the entire journey, he wondered if whether or not he was completely healthy.

He began to fill his plate when Fitz spoke again: “It’s best if we waste no time. I do hope you all don’t mind if we discuss further plans.” John paused and furrowed his brow at the king. He’d been informed of nothing of the sort. “On behalf of Feradonia, I would like to request that my kingdom and myself aid you in your journey to the Northern Fane, and provide assistance in your fight against the Kingdom of Vale.”

John set a roll on his plate, mouth agape. “Come again?”

Eric huffed in amusement. “We would like to continue with you on your journey!” John’s eyes grew wide. Beneath the table, Smitty slipped his hand into John’s own. The news was difficult for both of them to grasp, it seemed. “After what we’ve been through, it seemed strange to just end my role here...you’ve all given me everything I wanted, and now I feel that I should continue giving. It is my destiny to continue aiding the Company. I know it.”

John let out the breath he’d been holding, a smile slowly finding its way onto his face. They had been coming easier than usual lately. 

“And as I’ve been told that you are currently being hunted by King Wilfor,” Fitz spoke, leaning back in his chair. “I thought it only right that I give everything I can offer you all, as well. For the past two decades, Wilfor has done unimaginable things, to Erestia and his own people.” The king suddenly looked forlorn as he shook his head to himself. “And I know it is not my place to talk ill of others committing atrocities, but Eric has urged me that the time to act is now.” Fitz looked back and forth between John and Jay. “I’m sure, as Valians yourselves, you can understand the position we have been placed in?”

“It would certainly knock out two birds with one stone,” Jay replied. “but is it wise to start an entire military campaign on a journey such as this? Can it not wait until after?”

“If all goes well, I hope that will be the case. But as the High Princess Bordia is on your tail and most likely headed this way, we must ensure that your company reaches the Fane at all costs. You shall have my army for protection, and after your mission is done, well…” Fitz sighed. “...talks shall be arranged. And if Wilfor doesn’t wish to talk, war shall be waged.”

While it was a shame that Fitz was prepared for a full-fledged war, he reminded himself that he’d wanted the same thing in the first place. John had wanted a war of the people, a revolution against the tyrannical wrongdoings of his kingdom and its rulers. That was what had put him in jail (soon to have been the guillotine) and had prompted him to escape. That was what had led him to Smitty. He shouldn’t have been at all opposed to it. But for innocent people to put their lives on the line for such a short-noticed cause…

“From what I’ve gathered, the simplest plan will be to assemble our forces and charge northward into Grentor. I’ll have a messenger hawk sent to their king to alert of our passing-through, and we will give you all any aid and protection you require along the way. Once your mission is complete- assuming you have nothing more to do after business is settled- we can either escort you back to our Great City, or lead you directly home over the water.” Fitz concluded.

John knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Nothing ever was. But hearing it all laid out like that gave him hope- hope that it could be done, that their journey hadn’t been for nothing. It reminded him that he had a purpose, and what’s more, he had a job to do. 

“I will be giving the five of you total and complete control over the logistics of our journey onward. Consider me a pawn to move all of my other pieces in whatever way you’d like.” Fitz informed them. John furrowed his brow.

“You’re willing to give us control of your forces so easily?” Mason replied, biting down anxiously on a biscuit. 

“Well, this company is no one’s but your’s, so it would be obnoxious of me to be leading. You all just tell me where and when to move my forces, and it shall be done.” Fitz looked to Eric and squeezed the knight’s hand reassuringly. “Besides, the five of you have enough faculty to command an army on your own. I have no doubt in any of you that you will do well.”

“But who will rule while you’re gone?” Eric inclined. It was obvious they had discussed this for a long while in private, but it had only been a day since they’d arrived. Not everything was worked out- on any end of the spectrum- and it probably wouldn’t be completely worked out before they departed. But that was just war. “Surely you won’t leave an empty throne behind?”

“Well of course not. I would only trust Mathias to fill such shoes.”

Mathias, at Fitz’s side, suddenly went red in the cheeks and began stuttering a reply. “Your- Your Majesty, I-I beg your pardon?” 

Fitz turned to look up at his adviser, brows raised. “Who else? You are my first adviser, after all. While it would typically be the position of a ruler’s air to fill their parents’ place while they are gone, I seem to be lacking in that department, and I trust no other in the guarding and succession of my throne.” Fitz leaned on his elbow, closer to Mathias. “I can leave you with my crown, if you would feel more comfortable?”

Mathias let out an anxious sigh, his hands twitching nervously against one another in front of him. “Your Majesty, I cannot accept such a position. I am of such low standing- there is no royal blood anywhere within my family line, Your Majesty-”

“-and as I have no remaining relatives, I do declare that the throne shall now be passed to my closest and most trusted adviser.” Fitz finished for him, and Mathias’ mouth snapped closed. He did not seem angry in the slightest, only exceedingly nervous, like a child about to be sent off to a far-away school. When Fitz spoke again, his voice had softened and lowered: “There are no others capable of such a task. You have watched over me for many millennia, and you have seen firsthand how to run a kingdom by observing myself. I know that you will do absolutely fine in my absence.”

Mathias straightened his back, putting his hands behind him once again before he nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Fitz gave Mathias a comforting smile before turning back to his guests at the table. “I can have our forces prepared in four days. If you are all absolutely certain that you wish to embark on this path, I can send word to my people outside of the city to travel here to begin preparing for battle.” 

John gave a low sigh as his hand squeezed gently around Smitty’s. He turned to Fitz with a worried look. “Are you sure you’re willing to leave us in command of your army? The others have experience in battle, I’m sure of that, but...I’m not certain I have the kind of skill you’re looking for.”

Fitz raised his brows before crossing one leg over the other and leaning forward. Even sitting with another person between them, Fitz still seemed to tower over him, though more with influence rather than height. “There was once a time in which I would only allow the most skilled of elves into my good graces to take their part in commanding my armies. I’ve learned since then that, if one has no courage and devotion, their skills are useless when faced with the enemy. I’m choosing you to lead my army not because I believe you have some divine skill, but because I’ve met very few beings in my time that have a heart such as yours." Fitz falters for a moment, the worry in John’s eyes reflecting in his own, before he smiled again. "I truly hope you will accept my offer, my good man."

John’s jaw clenched as he debated with himself, as he usually did. He found that he was growing tired of each thought he had contradicting itself. He knew what he had to do, and he knew there was no other way it could be done.

The Fane was right in their grasp. Bordia was on her way. War was inevitable, and John knew that the real journey had just begun.

“I accept.”

~#~

“Your Majesty.” Anna made herself known as she entered the throne room, holding the sword at her hip while the other clenched by her side. Before the throne, the sorcerer Radielle turned to face her. He must have been speaking with the king. She could practically feel the smirk beneath his veil. “I assume you received Her Highness’ message.”

“I have.” Wilfor replied, glaring at Anna as she quickly bowed before the steps to the throne.

“We have discovered that the traitor, the fairy, and the assassin Rogue have now begun conspiring with the exiled Sir Eric, and now have six willing dragons in their keeping. Her Highness requests, with all do respect, that the entire army of Vale be assembled to eliminate them and capture their dragons to strengthen our own army and kingdom.”

Wilfor frowned, shifting on his throne as he silently considered her words. Radielle stepped forward, and Anna’s blood boiled. He always insisted on taking opportunities out of Bordia’s hands and keeping the victories for himself. That was how he’d come to greater power than the princess, even before Wilfor claimed the throne.

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Radielle began, a sneer apparent in his tone. “I must insist that our beastly forces are put to use, as well.”

“We have no creatures that could take on six dragons at once.”

“I didn’t say they were for the dragons, Your Majesty.” Wilfor looked suddenly to Radielle, and Anna swore they could hear one another’s thoughts, plotting with each other in silence. Anna felt her stomach twisting. She thought of the stables- what beasts would Radielle use, and who would he use them on? What did he know, and how much blood was about to be shed?

Anna was about to protest when Wilfor intervened. “What forces do you require?”

“Only our squadrons of harpies, Your Majesty. You can leave the rest to me.” 

“Done. Get to work.” Anna’s jaw fell slack as Radielle turned on his heel and left the throne room. Wilfor had barely given the sorcerer’s plans a second of thought, without further inquiry and planning. Leaving an entire squadron of beasts to one man, while he questioned everything his daughter did and fought against it.

It was sickening.

“Will our entire army truly be necessary?” Wilfor asked her, seeming bored as he gazed down at Anna. It was almost as if he was taunting her. 

She resisted the urge to sigh in irritation as she replied: “For a mission of this degree, I trust Her Highness’ intuition when she says she requires our entire army. Even against six dragons, they will barely leave a dent in our forces, and we shall have your victory soon enough.”

Wilfor sighed again. Under his breath, he spoke: “I should have killed that damned knight when I had the chance.” He sat back in his throne and waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. Prepare the forces.”

Never in her life had she wanted to kill a man more than in that moment, but nevertheless, she persisted. She bowed wordlessly for him before taking her leave.

She made her decision as the throne room doors slammed behind her. Her Major General came to walk by her side as she made a beeline for the steps leading to her chambers. “See to it that all of our forces are assembled within two days. I want every footman we have to be marched to where Her Highness is situated in Wrenomya. Take this map.” 

She pulled the folded map from her chestplate and didn’t bother to look at her Major General as he took it into his hands. She didn’t let him question her orders before continuing: “I won’t be going with you to Wrenomya, and I won’t be taking part in this mission. Have a pegasus prepared for my departure this evening. Don’t let anyone into my chambers. I have a letter to write.”

Her Major General was left standing helplessly as she made her way to her chambers. It took her an hour to forge a message that seemed even the least bit suitable to explain the actions she was about to take, and knowing that she couldn’t waste any more time, she called for a hawk, and tied the message to its leg before sending it off to Bordia.

That night, as the first of the forces were being secured outside of the city, Anna left her crest of knighthood on her desk behind as she mounted her pegasus. She didn’t look back, and didn’t care to know whether or not she would return.

It was Bordia’s time to decide: her lover and a future she would make for herself, or her father and a lifetime of failing to live up to his expectations. Anna wasn’t going to cater to a false king until she found it in her to decide. And as she disappeared into the night sky, she only wished that things could have been different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok. theres a lot to unpack here. lets recap: some cool lore that'll be important for later, smittys ok and he can retract his wings but it takes a lot out of him, mason and jay are bffs now, erics confirmed boyfriends with king fitz (note the BAND AROUND HIS FINGER), theyre gonna have the entire elvish army protecting them and a war will probably come after that they dont have to fight in if they dont want to, mathias is taking the throne when fitz is gone, anna is sending vale's forces to bordia but now shes yeeted herself out of the picture and is making bordia make a big decision, + radielle and wilfor are assholes. if youre confused just let me know and i'll write better
> 
> ok so its become apparent in the past couple weeks that i am now seriously debating TWO stories that could possibly come after this one. theres the aforementioned pirate h2ovan sequel, and then ive been planning this futuristic, sci-fi h2ovan fic that would have both the bbs AND the misfits/gbg (a big jump in genres, i know, but im inconsistent as a person so. there.) and ive never written two ongoing stories at once, and i really dont want to as much as i want to write both of these fics, so i really would like to hear y'all's opinions on it. im not saying i couldnt write both at once, im just saying that chapters would have a much longer gap between them and it would take literal years to get them both done. so. there. 
> 
> also, if yall wanna talk or chill w/ me, or if you just want another bbs/misfits/gbg blog to follow, you can find me on tumblr @ [bubbledaryll](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bubbledaryll). just sayin
> 
> thank you all so much for the kind comments and support, it really does mean a lot to me!!!!!! thank you all so much for reading!!!!!!!!!!


	12. Flight of the Silverbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Flight of the Silverbird" by Two Steps From Hell [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-Dh3ftkRAs).

The sun was beginning to set over the Great City. John and Smitty had spent the entire day wandering the palace grounds, taking their time in each room to let their ancient ambience seep into their bones. As the sky faded to bursts of oranges and pinks, they stepped out onto a high balcony overhead of the city, the people below slowly readying themselves for another night of sleep.

John leaned his elbows on the stone railing and let out a content sigh, eyeing the clouds in the far distance as they seemed to dance with the colors of the setting sun. The first star peaked just barely through it all. The sun was getting low.

“We used to have cities like this.” Smitty’s voice was so low, so gentle, that John wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it, yet it carried enough melancholy to pierce through the tranquil veil that had been lain over them. John kept to himself and let his friend speak. “It was so long ago. I can hardly remember it, but it was there.”

John glanced briefly to Smitty to find him gazing outwards as well, seemingly on a whole other planet. “I thought fairies lived secluded from one another. About the forests and the mountains.”

“Many did. They were the guardians of nature. But as the Children of the Gods, it was their duty to watch over the people, as well. Stop wars. Keep peace. So most lived in cities of their own to work better together. That is what my mother told me.” A breeze tangled itself through the railing and brushed against them. “She would take me into the city every once in a while, when I was very young. Just a few thousand years old. I know that we would visit often, and yet…” Smitty shook his head to himself, the beginnings of a sad smile finding his lips. “...I can only remember the scent of fresh bread in the early autumn.”

When John spoke, he did so in a tone of one trying not to startle a young fawn. “How odd. I thought fairies didn’t need to eat.”

“They engaged in mortal pleasures to pass the time. When you have eternity, you have to find new ways to spend it, so they took from the many cultures across the planet. The dancing of the humans, the singing of the merfolk, the artistry of the elves. The streets were filled with nothing but celebration. And yet…” Smitty bit his lip in thought. “...none walked the streets but the fairies themselves. They took from their culture, yet were unwilling to let any but their own kind within their walls...”

John didn’t comment. Now wasn’t the time to point out flaws in the ways of Smitty’s deceased people, even if he was sure Smitty wouldn’t have said anything about it if he didn’t see it, as well. 

“She left for the city one day, told me she was going to speak to the Court of Fae about the war that had broken out between the humans and the centaurs, plead to keep them out of our forest. When she didn’t come back for a year, I traveled there myself to find her, and…” Smitty took in a strained breath. “...there was nothing left but ash and ruin. If my mother had been set aflame with the rest of them, I wouldn’t have been able to tell her remains from the rest. Nothing but bones and a holy insignia Velios had left behind to tell the rest of the world what had happened.

“I traveled the world to each city of fae to find that they had been met with the same fate. There were no guardians left in the forests, nor the mountains, nor the plains or the seas. I was alone.” Smitty’s voice finally cracked at his last word, and John didn’t think before sliding his hand over the fairy’s where it dug into the stone of the railing. Smitty’s hand relaxed beneath it.

“I can’t remember my mother’s face. Only the love I had for her. Even if she impregnated herself to birth me, I wasn’t sure she ever loved me as much in return, but...that never really mattered to me.” He chewed on his bottom lip until it went red and spoke no sooner: “I’ve known so many in my life. They’ve all come and gone, as much as I pleaded to the Gods to let them stay...but I’ve known no greater than you, John.”

When John turned to face him, he found that Smitty was already looking back. Specks of magic glistened in the tears that gathered in Smitty’s eyes. “Me?”

“Who else?” Smitty turned back to the city. The sun was falling below the horizon. “I loved Fenaria, I always will, but somehow, the bond I’ve found with you runs deeper than the mere three weeks we’ve known each other.” Smitty’s hand slid out from beneath John’s to place itself above his instead. “I’ve felt this before, back when the fae’s cities were destroyed. Something like this is only fated.”

John swallowed. He felt it, too, but seemingly in a way much different than how Smitty seemed to feel for him. “Why? Why me?”

“”Why” doesn’t matter. All that matters is what you’re going to do with the cards Reylon has dealt.” Smitty glanced his way, then turned away as his cheeks flushed. “We’ve been bound together. And if it was that same string of fate that urged me to sacrifice myself for you in Arathian’s Pass, well...I really don’t mind.”

How was it, that Smitty was able to say just the right things that made John’s heart ache even more? How was it that he only found himself yearning more for something he couldn’t have every time Smitty spoke? His heart felt so full, yet Smitty kept pouring more of himself into it, and John didn’t know how much longer he could go until it finally burst. But the stretch of his heart hurt, so much that he wasn’t sure whether he would fall from the swell or the pain that came before.

Smitty let out a dry huff of amusement, squeezing John’s hand. “It really is rather odd, don’t you think?”

John let himself smile. “Exceedingly.”

They parted ways as the stars made themselves known in the sky. Smitty went off to their new room while John pleaded restlessness, telling him that he’d join him soon, and was left with silence where Smitty had stood just before. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the balcony overthinking everything Smitty had said before he left, only to find that he wasn’t quite sure how to get to their new room, as he’d only been there once before, earlier that day. 

After traveling up two flights of stairs, John found himself in another large hall, one with the moonlight streaming in through the glass windows. They depicted old elvish tales, and on the ceiling was a mosaic of Prin, God of Temporary Sleep. His mother had told him that Prin watched over children as they rested to make him feel more safe sleeping apart from them. He must have been close to guest rooms, though he doubted he was anywhere near his own room. 

A familiar feeling began to settle around him. He’d felt it just the night before. He kept himself in the same place, if only for a moment, until Fitz came to stand by his side. They began to walk towards what John assumed was his room. 

“The bond between you and our Great Smitius has caused a disruption of the natural ambience of this palace.” The only sound that fell after Fitz spoke was the light dragging of his nightgown across the marbled floor. 

“Uh...sorry?” 

Fitz chuckled. “Do not apologize when there is nothing to apologize for. I’ve found the disruption to be quite pleasant. This palace hasn’t had its old, content ambience since Eric departed, and I’m grateful that Smitius and yourself only contribute to it.” 

John didn’t let himself ponder for too long about what Fitz meant. He was starting to learn that Fitz had a mind of his own, one that most likely only Eric was able to understand. 

They only walked in silence for a few moments before Fitz spoke again: “I’m sure you and Smitius have already discussed the bonds of fate that have gathered us all here.” John hummed in reply. “Reylon has brought us here for many purposes: one purpose for us each, and another for the Company as a whole. And, as things go, I think I’ve figured out my reason for being here.” Fitz glanced down at him. “But have you found your’s, I wonder?”

“I...don’t think I have.” John replied. He looked up at Fitz. “What is your purpose?” 

Fitz smiled. “My purpose is giving. I no longer use my hands to take my future in my grasp, and instead use them to craft futures for others with my blood-born privilege. I give Erestia my promise, I give my people comfort, I give my dearest my whole existence.” Fitz stopped and looked to a painted window. It was Eric, his sword raised to the sky, bared before the moon. The elf’s voice grew distant as he finished: “It is only what I was born to do as a leader. It took me far too long to realize.” 

They began walking again, and Fitz began to lead him up another set of stairs. They carried on in silence until they reached the top. Looking ahead, Fitz spoke: “You have a question for me, sir.” 

John swallowed, then nodded. There was no easy way to put it. “Do you want a war, Your Majesty?”

Fitz raised his brows. “You don’t?”

John was about to retort when the realization hit him. Before their journey had started, before he’d known better, he’d been so willing to start a revolution. After John’s parents died, it seemed like righting wrongs, no matter the cost, was his only reason left for living, if it meant that he could take vengeance for all they had suffered. But now…

“I can tell that you no longer crave the bloodshed of those committing atrocities, and in that sense, you are right,” Fitz began. “This, as I am right in wanting a peaceful world, but in that same sense, I am wrong in the way that this peace should be achieved.” 

Fitz stopped, and John realized that they were once again at the door to his room. He looked up at the elf to find him peering into John’s soul, his eyes like the moon themselves. “So, if war is inevitable,” Fitz concluded, “then doesn’t that make each of us mere hypocrites in our longing for change?”

John let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Fitz took a step closer, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your purpose lies ahead of you, my good John. You already know what it is, somewhere within you- you just have to find the key.” 

Fitz squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and as it slipped away, it felt like a phantom had been left behind. “Rest easy.” 

Fitz walked off in his own direction, and John watched him, seemingly unable to move. It wasn’t until he’d vanished completely that John found his footing, and gently slipped into the room. 

John changed into his nightwear as quietly as he was able, and slipped beneath the sheets only for Smitty to cover him with his wing in his sleep. As he drifted off, he could only wonder about just what Reylon had in store for him.

~#~

“We need to split the army into different divisions. Keeping a single force would leave us vulnerable to attack, and we will be able to advance northward at a much faster rate.” 

“Our goal is keeping the Company of the Fane’s Pursuit protected and transported safely to the Northern Fane,” Fitz replied. “It wouldn’t do us any good to keep our armies separated. And, in case of an attack from the Valian army, it would do us best to keep our forces together. When the princess strikes, she will do so with her entire army, and we must be prepared.”

Fitz leaned over the table with his palms digging into the map of the Erestian Mainland, his eyes constantly shifting over its contents. John kept his hand gripped on the hilt of his sword as he watched the meeting between Fitz’s generals unfold. He felt somewhat useless, even if he could pitch in any time he wanted to, but he felt like the least qualified person in the room to be making battle plans (not that he ever doubted he was). 

Smitty was to his left with Mason and Jay to his right, while Eric and Fitz had their place at the head of the table where the map sculpted out of stone into the table pointed upright to them. Fitz and Eric were dressed in gowns even more lavish than those of the previous day, Fitz this time holding his self-acclaimed spear beside him. While the king once again wore his crown of antlers, his fiancé wore a crown of his own; fine, clear gems, stitched together with gold, stretching upwards with a psychedelic crystal as its centerpiece. The crown seemed as fragile as icicles, but seeing as it was elvish craftwork, John could bet that it was the furthest thing from. 

The longer they spoke of what Bordia might be planning, the more John began to wonder just what secrets the princess had up her sleeve. If Fitz’s intelligence was correct, Bordia was assembling her entire army to kill four people and capture six dragons. Vale stretched from just below the equator to the far south of the world- most places, especially past the southern mountains, became inhospitable with the bitter cold and the unforgiving terrain. With the sheer scale of the kingdom, there were too many types of beasts that could have been captured for use against them. Furthermore, with their combined might, they might just be strong enough to take six dragons without Bordia lifting a finger. The true strength of Vale came from the creatures they bore, and if Bordia was assembling her entire army, she would no doubt use that strength to her advantage.

Eric, speaking for the first time since the elvish generals had been summoned, spoke exactly what was on John’s mind: “Vale’s army relies heavily on its beastly forces to achieve swift and crippling victories. If their possession of these beasts is the same as it was when I left, I would say that the playing field can easily be evened with our keep of six dragons.” 

Fitz gave Eric a blank look out of the corner of his eye at the remark, and Eric continued: “Furthermore, there’s still the possibility that Vale may not be able to assemble their entire army and bring it forth to meet our own within the near month it will take to reach the Fane. After all, with their current relationship with Brundirth, they’ll have to sail their forces clear to the neutral Kingdom of Grentor, which in turn would require settling for peace with the merfolk. As strong as they are, it will take much time and effort to be fully prepared to face a power such as ourselves.”

Smitty’s wings fluttered beside John before he inquired: “So then, what is our plan in reaching the Fane?”

Fitz walked around the table to the northern side and gestured to the map as he spoke. “Our journey will take four weeks at the very least, but may well be over a month, considering the size of our forces and the cold of Grentor. It will take two weeks to reach our northern border, and from there, the trek to the Fane is a straight path through heavy bouts of ice and snow.”

Looking at the map, John hadn’t realized just how much mass Grentor and Vale took up when put together. Feradonia, Wrenomya and Brundirth were less than a third compared to the sheer size of the other two kingdoms. It was a wonder as to how the smaller three kingdoms had grown so powerful compared to their gargantuan sizes. 

Next to him, Jay shifted from one foot to the other, hand gripped tightly around his sword. “What’s the progress on the assembly of elvish forces?”

Fitz looked to Mathias who, until then, had stood silently in the corner. The elf cleared his throat awkwardly before stepping up to the table. “Most of our drafted soldiers are pouring into the city as we speak. Our barracks are fully operational, and last-minute training is being conducted in preparation. Any soldiers who are unable to join us in the city before our departure have been instructed to meet the rest of our forces at the soonest date possible as we’re northbound. For now, our forces should be ready to depart in three days time.”

“Very well done, High Mathias-” Fitz began, but was interrupted as the palace beneath them suddenly began to rumble. A deep growl was at the center of it, low yet powerful, and John shivered at the sound of it. Every pair of ears in the room almost seemed to perk at the sound, and the room went deathly still until the growl echoed again, this time even stronger.

Eric’s eyes widened as he looked to Fitz, but the glance they shared was equally knowing, as if they both knew exactly what was about to unfold. The generals all looked to Fitz for answers, but the king only smirked to his consort. Softly, so quiet John almost missed it, Fitz spoke to Eric: “Six dragons, you say?”

Eric’s smirk matched his own as he stood from his seat. Fitz presented his free palm in which Eric rested his own upon, and together, they made their way swiftly to the door. Mathias quickly followed, but not before beckoning the company along with him.

“What’s happening?” John questioned as they followed Mathias out the door. Fitz and Eric sped so quickly, they were nearly halfway down the hall when John exited.

With more confidence than John had heard yet from Mathias, the elf replied: “She has awoken at last.”

He had no time to retort, and soon enough, they were running to keep up with Eric and Fitz, but even as they lost sight of the royal couple, Mathias seemed to know exactly where they were going. Without thinking, John took Smitty’s hand in his own, and Smitty only gripped it tightly in reply.

When they finally stopped, they had reached the door to Fitz’s vault, the one by which John had his first encounter with the king. The sun shone brightly through the stained windows and reflected off of the towering doors, basking the image in a whole new, brilliant light. Fitz stood before it, spear in hand, while Eric found his place off to the side. Mathias stopped by the consort, and in bewildered intrigue, they watched.

Fitx seemed to prepare himself for what lay beyond the ancient doors as he harshly gripped the staff of the spear, nearly shivering in anticipation. In a rising voice, he began: “Since the end of your sovereign reign five millennias ago, you have slept among the riches you rightfully earned by my side.” Next to John, Mason clenched his fists. “Born from the moon-” Fitz raised the spear above his head, and brought it fiercely downward towards the ground. “You have been awoken among the sun!”

The palace seemed to shake as the butt of the spear met the stone ground, forcing a gust of wind in every direction around it. The world went silent- and, slowly but surely, the towering doors began to creak open. Waiting behind them, was an ethereal dragon of silver scales.

Fitz bowed before her as she tread menacingly from her keep, and bared her wings outwards when he arose. Again, her voice started in a low rumble, only to build into a deafening roar, making herself known. She was smaller than Eric’s mountainous dragons had been and much more slim and elegant to match, but her scales radiated some sort of magical aura, trickles of it falling from her wings as it did with Smitty’s. Her scales shone a dazzling silver with azure eyes and a smooth spine, yet her teeth were sharpened to a deathly fine point. John, flabbergasted and confused (as always), watched as Fitz moved forward to place a timid hand on her snout, and her eyes fell slowly closed at the touch as she went quiet.

Eric moved to Fitz’s side, and as menacing as she seemed, the dragon accepted his touch immediately. Mathias quietly cleared his throat before explaining: “The dragon is known as Karenna, sent from the moon and granddaughter of the moon goddess Sylvess. She has served the elvish crown since the First Queen, and was the greatest tool in His Majesty’s conquests five millennia ago. When His Majesty’s reign of war came to an end, Karenna devoted herself to protecting the treasures they had earned within his vault, and sent herself into an endless slumber…” Mathias swallowed. ”...until now.”

They had named Vivian’s daughters after Sylvess’ first three, but to see one of her offspring in the flesh was an experience he could only describe as inconceivable. Moreso, he now realized that Karenna was more than a symbol of Feradonia, but rather renowned as a goddess in itself in their eyes. And he could see why; she seemed to be the very epitome of power, her presence overflowing the room and her eyes bearing entire galaxies within them. To think, she had been sleeping beneath the palace for so long, and John couldn’t tell of her presence. Perhaps it had seeped into the palace’s ambience overtime, and now that she’d been awoken, all of the sheer power that had been subdued in her sleep had burst passed her seams.

“She is the very symbol of Feradonia, the highest power in all the land,” Fitz declared. The king glanced briefly to Smitty before finishing, “and she is the last of her kind.”

Smitty’s grip grew tight around John’s hand, and he found it only right that he squeezed back. John wondered just how many people knew that the fairies were truly gone, and not just hiding between the flower petals and in the badger dens like the stories had told him when he was young. However, John had no doubt that Fitz was aware of their near-extinction one way or the other, and was using it to prove some sort of unspoken point. 

Fitz reached up to place his hand gingerly on the dragon’s snout, and Karenna closed her eyes in turn. In a way, it seemed she was bowing for him, but as Fitz let his head drop, he knew that they saw each other, undoubtedly, as equals. 

“Six dragons have been added to our forces, born from the mountains of the south. You shall be leading them alongside the Dragoness Vivian, the bonded of my consort and queen. You shall find them at the stables-” Both Fitz and Karenna raised their heads, and as their eyes met, there was nothing but burning certainty between them. “-now go.”

Karenna let her call build in her stomach, then climb up her throat to let it pass between her teeth and shake the palace with her cry. Her wings flexed as she raced down the hall, doors flying open for her as she disappeared from sight. As John watched her go, all he could think was: _so that’s what these halls are so big for_.

Fitz turned to them, pressing the butt of his spear gently into the marble floors.. “We shall discuss the finer details of our plans later this afternoon. Eric, dearest, if you would be so kind to follow me? There’s something I must retrieve in the vault.”

Eric stepped forward and gently took the arm Fitz extended, and descended silently into the vault. Guards came to stand watch but it didn’t close, and John found himself suddenly exhausted. A lot had happened in the last half hour. A nap sounded nice. He tried to allow himself the luxury without feeling bad about it.

Smitty gently took John’s arm. “Let’s go back to our room. You look tired.”

John huffed, and let himself be led away. “You read me so well.”

In the vault chamber, they had just reached the bottom of the staircase that led to another wide hall, this one with all of Feradonia’s greatest treasures lined up on either side. There were large doorways between the treasures, as well, leading to gargantuan, open chambers filled with gold and gems. At the very end of the hall was exactly what Fitz was looking for, just as he’d left it millenias ago. 

“What troubles you?” Eric asked as they made a quick pace towards their destination. 

“On our way to Grentor, I request that you and I make a stop at the Primeval Tree.”

“Primeval Tree?” Eric repeated. The story was old, perhaps one of the oldest in Erestian history, but most retellings played out the same. The tree was the first lifeform to bless the world, planted by Velios, with branches that released magical energy into the air like oxygen. When the first elves were born, they had used the tree’s power and wisdom to create the first forms of witchcraft and sorcery, followed by a small population of humans, before the tree locked its power away to preserve it. Eric had never personally seen it, but he had no doubt that every elf in Feradonia had. It was their crown jewel. “Why would we go there?”

“Our friend Smitius believes that the Gods are the cause of Erestia’s plague.” They stopped before the display, and after handing his spear to Eric, Fitz gently took the bow and arrow from their stands, feeling the slightest hint of their ancient power melting into his palms. The world’s magic may have been depleting, but the bond of his parents’ souls was as strong as ever. “I’d like to see if his theory is correct.”

Eric knew Fitz wouldn’t tell him any more than that, but it wasn’t to establish some sort of mystical aura around himself. No, Fitz kept to himself, because he wasn’t sure what territory they were about to charge into, either.

~#~

The next few days seemed to fuse into one another as John found himself following the same rhythmic schedule each day. He awoke with Smitty, had his breakfast, trained, ate, trained and ate again, knowing that he couldn’t do much else with his time, seeing as he was the least prepared person on the mission. During their swordfighting sessions, Jay told him that he was improving immensely in his skills, but as things seemed to play out with him, John didn’t see himself getting much better at all. But that was just him, he supposed.

The palace grounds were soon overrun by soldiers, marching in tandem, always on the move. He didn’t go an hour without seeing another squadron of them. The palace was growing steadily busy, not to mention cramped, and with this, he began to see less and less of Eric and Fitz until they’d disappeared by the third day. Preparations for war were right on time, and with each passing moment, John felt like he was suffocating under the pressure.

It seemed that he and Smitty really had run out of things to talk about as they found themselves often sitting in comfortable silence, shoulders brushing as they stared out at nothing on their balcony each night. It was the only part of John’s day that he could forget about the journey ahead. They had more than an entire month of travel to look forward to, constantly moving, always wary of an oncoming attack. Eric had guessed that their chances of avoiding conflict with Bordia in Grentor were slim to none, as the giants couldn’t care less who fought on their land so long as they weren’t directly involved. 

On the third night, the day before their departure, John made his way to his room only to find Eric waiting for him on the balcony outside of it, seated on the stone railing with a distant look in his eye. John was happy to join him, carefully propping himself up on the railing and folding his hands on his lap. They began to talk, mostly about their fears in what lie ahead, and John found himself so oddly comfortable in his presence. It was strange to think that the man before him was the stuff of legends.

When they fell quiet, the sky had gone completely dark, and the stars illuminated the city below in stilfull serenity. John didn’t put much thought into the question he was about to ask. “What’s your story with King Fitz?”

Eric glanced briefly at John before turning his attention back to the horizon. He cleared his throat before beginning. “Oh. Well. Erm, he and I met very, very shortly after I became a knight. The King- not Wilfor, this was when King Draedius still lived- he decided that his knight of just a week would be a good fit to accompany him to Feradonia, since I had a dragon to my name and a dragon’s tongue to match, since the elves are all about dragons- oh Reylon, I’m rambling.”

“You’re alright. Keep going, I don’t mind,” John assured him.

Eric cleared his throat again. “Well, I guess Fitz and I just had some sort of connection the moment I met him. Fitz says it’s because we’re fated, I say it’s because I had a dragon. He begs to differ.” John chuckled as Eric gave a fond smile to the stars. “After I returned home a week later, I found myself longing to return, and every time an ambassador had to be sent to Feradonia, I’d practically beg Draedius to let me take their place. He seemed to understand and sent me each time, and Fitz and I grew impossibly close, impossibly quick.

“Even still, it took us years to acknowledge our feelings for one another. He and I had only been together for half a year when Wilfor demanded my presence back at the Capital.” Eric suddenly grew solemn, hands wringing in his lap. “Around six years ago, a revolution had broken out in a city of the south, between the mountains. Wilfor said in his letter that he’d have my head if I wasn’t there in four days to handle the situation, so my only mode of safe transportation with the merfolkian ships was out of the question. We were already on very bad terms with the dwarves of Brundirth, so there was really only one way to make it home in time.”

“Arathian’s Pass,” John finished. Eric nodded.

“Before I left, I swore to Fitz that I’d make it home after my job was done. He asked me how I’d live up to my promise, and I told him that I’d have his hand in marriage the moment I walked through the city gates. I’d meant it somewhat as a joke, but…” Eric smiled sadly. “He told me that he wanted to be nothing in the world other than my husband if it meant he could have my hand. And it wasn’t as if the elvish people didn’t already see me as their queen. We found that they’d quite grown to like me at Fitz’s side.”

John swallowed, and Eric continued: “I made it through the pass with years of night terrors to follow, and I managed to disband the revolution without any casualties. I set up a plan to right the wrongs they protested. But when I made my way back to the Capital, Wilfor told me that I was to be sent to negotiate in Brundirth for peace, and not to return until I had done so.” 

Eric looked at John with a forlorn gaze. “It was a suicide mission. Wilfor had wanted me gone for years already, and it seemed he was getting impatient. I’d known the second he told me that I wouldn’t make it home without disgrace at the very least, but I went anyway, because that’s what knights are supposed to do. Serve the crown, protect the people.

“I went, and I managed to get into relatively good graces with the dwarvish queen, despite everything. But then, she asked me to prove my worth, and slaughter my own dragon for their feast that evening.” John’s mouth fell open, and Eric’s hands balled into fists. “I refused, and I was faced under heavy fire as I made my escape, but I didn’t dare go on the offensive. Vivian and I managed to make it back to the Capital in one piece, but it didn’t matter, because Wilfor ordered for my banishment the moment I entered the throne room.”

Eric sighed and looked back out at the stars. “So, I did what most exiles do and fled to Wrenomya under protection of the centaurs. I stayed relatively close to Arathian’s Pass in hopes that I’d one day find the gall to go back through, since I didn’t have the merfolk on my side to take me home…and I stayed there for half a year before I finally gave in and let Vivian go. It was the least she deserved. She’d been with me for over fifteen years, and she’d never once had a mate, so I let her live the life she never could under our bond.

“I stayed there for nearly five years until you all showed up at my door. The night terrors hadn’t gone- they still haven’t- but I knew that I was ready, and it barely took any persuasion on your part to get me to go. The hardest part was knowing that the three of you could end up with the same nightmares as myself- or even worse, dead- but there was just too much at stake to ignore the call to duty.” 

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, neither sure where to go from there, but John had gotten what he asked for, so it really was his fault. They weren’t quiet for long before Eric inclined, “Have you ever been in love, John?”

John swallowed again. One person was prevalent in his mind. “I think so.”

Eric gave him a knowing look, and John realized that Eric had been aware of his feelings before he’d even asked the question. They came to a familiar understanding before Eric replied, “You need to tell him about your feelings before your journey ends. Our dearest ones and our brightest futures can be lost at the drop of a pin, and we can’t ever take that chance of losing everything we hold closest to us.”

John knew that Eric was speaking from experience, but just thinking about telling Smitty how he felt made his stomach turn. “I don’t know if I can do that.” He swallowed anxiously, shaking his head. “We’re on two different levels of existence. It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’ve seen fate with my own eyes. Sometimes it slips away before we know it. Your destiny is something you have to take for yourself, and it will loom over you until the day you die if you miss your chance. Trust me.” Neither seemed to blink in the few moments that followed as they stared intently at one another. “Don’t let the horse lead. You’re the only one with the reins.”

John suddenly thought of Smitty’s last relationship. How soon was too soon? Even if he had a chance in the world, would Smitty ever be willing to leave her behind and move on to someone new? John wouldn’t ever dare hurt him, not ever, and he knew that confessing with so much on the line wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

He wondered if Eric was wrong. He was too tired to decide.

~#~

The elvish servants had John dressed in fine armor that clung to him like a leech, not a bit of his body on display, yet he found that he had much more mobility than he first thought. Still, he doubted he could mount a moose gracefully with everything currently on his body. From afar, it seemed as if the armor would have been more of a decoration than a necessity in battle, what with all its flowing, ancient designs- but this was elvish armor. There was no room for doubt in its strength.

John saw Smitty approach in the mirror, leaning against the doorway behind him, and put his hand on the hilt of his sword as he turned to face his friend. Smitty eyed him for a long moment with a playful smile, and John couldn’t help but blush under his gaze. His cheeks only grew darker as he eyed Smitty’s armor for himself. It seemed so natural on him, the silver clashing perfectly with the azure of his wings. It was, and John could not stress this enough, too attractive to just gloss over.

“I assume you’ve already been informed in our procedure with exiting the city?” Smitty inclined, and John gave a sharp nod with a nervous cough to follow. He turned back to the mirror to eye his own armor again. 

“We’ll be paraded out of the city to give the people hope, yes. Eric seemed very passionate when he explained it to me.” He furrowed his brow and spun around to find Smitty stepping slowly closer. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” 

Smitty stopped, clearing his throat. “It’s ancient elvish tradition. Even with how much King Fitz has changed himself and his government since his days of imperialism, his devotion to the little traditions remains all the same.” Smitty extended an arm for John to take. “Let’s get going, shall we? Everyone’s waiting for us in the main hall.”

When they arrived at their destination, they were directed to a pair of moose saddled and packed for them, behind the royal couple but in front of Mason and Jay, who seemed to do nothing but chatter to each other, as of late. As it turned out, John could mount his steed quite smoothly, but he had almost forgotten the sheer discomfort of riding. Just thinking about all the riding they would have to do for the next month made his back ache. 

The hall only seemed to be filled with the major figures of the campaign, but he could hear more generals barking orders at their squadrons beyond the palace doors, and imagined that they would all follow after they had gone. It seemed that they would be at the very front of the group, and while he’d somewhat expected as such, John still found himself surprised, and growing steadily nervous as the seconds ticked by.

The entire city would be lined up to see them off. There would be shouting, and cheering, and crying, all things John had never been too fond of- so he could only be grateful for the encouraging glance Smitty gave him just before the doors opened. 

The crowd was gathered at the bottom of the immense staircase, parted to give them way but still seeming more and more claustrophobic the further they descended. The city was already aflame with cries of joy all along the main street clear to the gates, parents with their children on their shoulders while some waved their kingdom’s flag. It was deafening, and yet, in a way John hadn’t expected, it gave him hope.

Towards the bottom of the staircase, just as the first squadrons filled along to follow them in their descent, Fitz raised a hand to halt his forces. Not a moment later, a harmony of thunderous roars shook the land to its core, and a band of dragons took to the skies overhead, lead by Karenna in all her glory. John found himself in giddy awe as he watched them in their perfect v-formation. Just nearly a week ago, they’d been a mere pack of bonded beasts, and now, they flew together as one. 

Together, they circled overhead, sometimes dipping to grow steadily closer to the city below, and the people began to shout and cry even louder. John realized that they hadn’t seen Karenna for multiple millennia, the symbol of their pride and strength, and now she had arisen like the phoenix with six more of her kind to flank her. John couldn’t even begin to imagine how the people must have felt. 

They continued on their way, and John found it growingly easier to smile and wave as he’d been told with it being completely genuine. The crowd never grew too close in respect, but John managed to collect three handkerchiefs that had been tossed his way. He took them with kind, albeit unsure of what exactly to do with them, so he held them with his hand that also held the reins. He pushed down the anxiety that threatened to claw its way up his throat and charged onward.

As they neared the gates, a young voice called to him, addressing him as a knight. He looked down to find a girl jogging alongside his steed, dressed in fine silk with her hair braided down her back, strands now falling loose as she struggled to keep up. “Sir John! We believe in you! I know you will bring us glory and prosperity!”

How odd it seemed that a young girl (as young as an elf could be) who hadn’t even heard of him before he’d stepped foot in the city put so much blind faith in him. Her voice dripped with nothing but confidence and sincerity, and John found himself feeling unworthy of her praise. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing but the man he’d been just a few weeks ago, fueled by burning passion. But this girl was different- she had seen the glory of victory, and already knew how the story would end.

She was wise beyond her age. John wouldn’t let her down. 

As they made it passed the gates and the walls of the city fell behind the thicket of the forest, Smitty gave John a look of concern, and pressed: “Will you be alright?”

John didn’t have to even think to give a reply. “I don’t know.”

~#~

“Your Majesty!” A young soldier entered Bordia’s tent, a hawk resting on his arm, unfazed by the boy’s jittering-about. “A message for you, from the High Lady Anna!”

Bordia furrowed her brow and stood, the hawk naturally settling upon her arm instead and dismissing the boy with a wave of her hand. She untied the envelope from the hawk’s leg and set the bird to rest on her bedpost before seating herself at her desk.

She opened the letter with a tenderness sometimes foreign to herself, finding a single page with small, hurried print scribbled on it with ink. She barely had time to question why Anna had sent a letter instead of reporting back when she began to read: 

_My dearest Bordia,_

_I have no time to soften the blows with my words, so I must plead you to forgive me if I am the cause of your sudden heartache. It pains yet heartens me to say that I have abandoned by post in the King’s army, and I will have deserted until Wilfor has been overthrown. For too long, we have served a false king, and I cannot bear to watch you slip further and further into the bottomless pit your father has dug for you. I have known since my knighthood that nothing but genocide and tears will come from the evildoings of Wilfor and the Sorcerer Radielle, and while I kept my position to stay near to you, I have now realized that I can no longer stand by and watch as the king turns you into his own image._

_You know that Wilfor and Radielle plan to use their power to conquer the Erestian mainland, and after that, their hunger will spread to the provinces and islands around the world. Their plans began long ago, but they are just now putting their main forces into action. Radielle will be sending a flock of harpies northward to attack the fairy and his company, and we can both be sure that he will be using each and every one in his possession. In my final act as a knight, I have sent the forces you request, and they should be northbound as you read this note. They shall have joined your own forces within the week._

_I’m going to give you a choice, and I know that it will be hard for you to decide, but I’ve always seen the good in you, and I know that you will do what’s right. You can call off your attack and leave the fairy, the exiled and the traitors to their own business, or you can very likely spark a war with the elvish forces that have most definitely joined their side. You can give Wilfor the bloodshed he craves, or you can finally take your first step in becoming your own woman, independent from what he has made you to be._

_I love you, my dove, do not doubt this. But the only thing that pains me more than losing you is seeing you lost to your father’s expectations. I cannot be excused for what I’ve done in the king’s name, and I shall spend the rest of my life repenting for the lives I’ve taken, but no more bloodshed has to come if you stop this war before it starts. You are his greatest pawn, but you can just as well be his greatest reckoning._

_I love you,_

_Anna_

Bordia didn’t give herself a chance to contemplate her feelings before she cast the letter into the fire. Her hands balled into fists, and she choked on words Anna would never hear, curses and pleas and apologies. Her head spun with the realization of what was about to happen.

When the Capital’s forces joined her own in northern Wrenomya, they would be expected to march to the coast and be transported to Grentor with aid from the merfolk, and Bordia would be expected to secure her victory at all costs. But now, her love had abandoned her, and she had taken every bit of Bordia’s strength with her.

There was no manual on what she would do next, and she wouldn’t ask her father for advice on whether or not to betray him in the name of peace. There was no persuading Wilfor, and as much as she loved Anna, Bordia couldn’t ignore the devotion to the crown that had been rooted in her since the day she was born.

As she lay her head upon her pillow to silently weep, Bordia wondered whether she was truly her own woman, or what her father had made her to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if yall were to listen to any song that ive linked, this is THE one that is an absolute MUST. its seriously my favorite orchestral piece ever, and it goes WAY harder than it needs to and i am VERY content with that. also, this chapter was meant to be two different ones but i didnt want to drag their stay in feradonia on for that long, so i meshed them together, hence why this chapter took so long. so. there.
> 
> also, i developed the sequel to this story a LOT further, and i really think you guys are gonna like it!!! we're literally only halfway through this story, so its kinda weird to be planning a sequel already, but honestly?? ive made delirious' character WAY too cool to stop now so. there. the pirate sequel to this story is probably (most likely) going to follow this piece, and not the futuristic one. or maybe i'll just do both and stress myself out. idk we'll see how it goes. also the chapters (or additional tracks at least) are gonna be named after sea shanties, mostly the ones featured in Assassin's Creed IV (that means im ONLY using the sea shanties from ACIV bc im lazy (this is also a good time to mention that i know absolutely nothing about assassins creed))
> 
> anyway, i keep forgetting to mention this, but would you guys be wanting updates on the progress of the story? like, im usually gone for 3-4 weeks between each update, and theres really no communication between then, so i cant tell you guys if the chapters going slow or unusually fast or anything like that. so for those that read the chapters as they come out, would that make things easier? or do you just forget that my story exists between updates? because dont worry, i do too lmao but if i were to have an updating system, itd probably just be on my tumblr. other than that, you guys can always reach me on the bbs shipping discord server. oh, by the way, im "jordan? #5164" on the bbs shipping discord server lmaO, feel free to add me!
> 
> on a final note, as yall can tell, it's august, which means school is about to start again. im about to head into my junior year (which, at my school, is the busiest year), so im not gonna have nearly as much time to write as i want, what with juggling school, band, choir, show choir and writing all at once. im gonna try my hardest not to burn myself out, but if my writing starts sucking as time goes by, you know why lmao
> 
> thank you all again for all of the kind comments and heartwarming support, it really does mean a lot to me!!!!! it really pushes me to write more for you guys, and i really dont think this story would have gotten as far as it has without your help!!!!!


	13. And the Heavens Shall Tremble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "And the Heavens Shall Tremble" by Audiomachine [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mg-O3Z-_Aio).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: semi-graphic descriptions of violence ahead.

John hadn’t missed the back pain that came with riding, and he certainly hadn’t missed sleeping on the ground, but at least he was given a tent, this time. The only problem with that was, he slept alone in his tent, and he’d been so used to sleeping next to Smitty that he found it nearly impossible to get any decent rest. In just four days of travel, John already found himself begging for the strange simplicity he’d found back in Feradonia, where he could have spent all the time he was able lounging around with Smitty. Now, they only rode together in silence.

More and more troops joined the forces out of nowhere as time went on, and soon, their ranks had nearly doubled in size. By the fourth day, it seemed everyone was already sick of travelling with one another, including John himself. None of his company had done anything to annoy him in the slightest- he was just tired of being surrounded by them. The only time he found peace in private was in his tent at night, which often became more of a burden than a blessing, as he, once again, couldn’t sleep.

On the fifth day, John awoke after another restless night to join Smitty by a fire, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Smitty stoked the fire out of boredom, and John tucked his knees to his chest as he watched. At first, they had sat in silence as they seemed to be doing often as of late, but after a brief mental inquiry into what lie ahead, John found himself facing a question he hadn’t quite considered, yet.

“What happens when we get to the Fane?” 

Smitty’s eyes were still transfixed on the fire when he replied, “We bargain with the Gods.”

“Yes, but how does that work? How do we summon them to talk?”

Smitty’s hand froze, his stick still in the fire, before his back straightened and his wings fluttered. “I’m...not sure.” His hand dropped, the stick falling to the ground. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

John’s face deadpanned, and Smitty’s went red as he scrambled for a better answer. “I-I mean, I’m sure it will be a rather quick affair! If I use the Fane’s power to call to the Gods, I’m sure I can beckon one to us, hopefully a powerful God that can aid us- Velios and the like- and we’ll plead that the Gods reverse their work and leave us be.” 

Smitty nodded to himself, but he looked anything but sure. John frowned. “Do you think they’ll listen? I mean, if the Gods intended on ending all life, I’m sure they wouldn’t just decide to reverse their doings for the first people who come knocking at their gate. Perhaps they’ll ask for something in return?”

“But what could someone who already has everything possibly want? They’re Gods.” Smitty retorted, furrowing his brow. “We serve no purpose to them but giving our prayers and undivided devotion. Perhaps they’ve realized this, or simply grew bored of us, and are finally putting us out of our misery.”

John’s mouth fell slightly agape. He’d never heard Smitty talk in such a downhearted manner, even if his tone bore nothing but curiosity. Smitty had told him exactly the thing John didn’t want to hear, but what he’d needed to all along, and it hit harder than he’d like to admit. It made him wonder if Smitty had already given up hope in their cause. If so, how long had he felt that way? Had he ever felt hope in their company at all? 

John knew Smitty had told him to stop doubting himself, but he could only wonder whether Smitty was the one who had grown bored in the beginning. After so long without another, it would be easy to, he assumed. 

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and shaking the thoughts from his mind. There was no use speculating and doubting. There were bigger fish to fry. 

Looking around and failing to find familiar faces, John asked, “Have you seen Eric or the king, this morning? They’re usually out and about, by now.”

Smitty shook his head, once again aimlessly stoking the fire with his stick. “Eric mentioned that he and Fitz had business to attend to this morning. They left a while ago, off into the forest somewhere. He said it shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“What do you suppose they’re doing?” John wondered, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Who’s to say? Those two are too mysterious for their own good. They probably tell children’s stories in riddles.” John chuckled, and Smitty smiled at him. 

It was reminders like that, giving John assurance. Even if Smitty had lost hope in their cause, however long ago that may have been, John was just glad he was still by his side.

~#~

“How do you know which tree is the Primeval one?” Eric took Fitz’s hand as it was offered, hopping off of the rock as they hiked deeper into the forest. “A lot of these trees look the same.”

“You’ll know before we find it. It has a way about pulling one towards it.” A sharp, chilling wind brushed passed, and Fitz briefly paused to take the fur cape from his armored shoulders and clasp it onto Eric’s. He almost seemed to pout at the gesture, and Fitz only smiled as they carried on, knowing Eric wouldn’t want to take it off. “Even if the warmer seasons have just begun, the winter constantly brews in the north...we’ll have to decorate our troops with thicker apparel, soon.”

Eric didn’t reply, only taking a gentle hold of Fitz’s arm. They walked a while longer in silence before Eric spoke: “I, ah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. About the wedding.”

“What troubles you?”

“Well, it’s just…” Eric swallowed. “If you really are planning to have a war, I’d like to be wed before it begins. If at all possible.”

“There is no need to speak so timidly, dearest. I was thinking the same.” Fitz sighed. “We’ve had to wait far too long.”

“So we have…” Eric agreed. A warm feeling of relief began to settle in his chest, even though he knew he’d had nothing to fear to begin with. 

Fitz paused briefly to glance around, then leading them on their way deeper still into the forest. “We must be getting close.”

Eric furrowed his brow. All he saw around them was dead grass and dying trees. It was hard to believe that the Primeval Tree, a being said to have the most nourished vegetation about it in all of Erestia, was in a place so devoid of life. 

“I can’t feel any magic,” Eric replied. Fitz stopped them once again in their tracks.

“Look around you,” Fitz instructed, “Feel the air and listen. Something tells me that this place hasn’t felt magic for a time.”

Eric glanced around again as he was told. The more he looked, the stranger it seemed; the grass was dying (he could practically feel it in his bones) but the lot of it was stained in an odd gray hue instead of the usual tan color. The trees were the same, as what he could only imagine were once towering, twisting creations of the earth were now large, grey stumps of bark, leafless and lifeless even more so. There were no birds, nor critters, nor insects, and no underbrush for them to have lived and hidden within upon the forest floor. And now that he took the time to feel the earth beneath him, Eric could feel the void caging around them, all magical energy drained away and taking the air with it.

“I...don’t understand,” Eric declared, “What’s happening?”

“We’ll have more answers when we reach the tree. We must keep moving- they’re waiting for us back at camp.” Fitz led him along again, but Eric couldn’t shake away the goosebumps that now dotted his skin beneath his armor, nor the shiver that had crawled up his spine. If Fitz knew that something was off with him, he didn’t speak it aloud.

Instead, after another minute of walking, Fitz asked out of nowhere: “Would you truly enjoy life as royalty, my dear?”

Eric frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, would you not prefer a simpler life within a cottage, or perhaps a small farm? I know your upbringing was based upon the latter.” Fitz was now the one speaking timidly, clearing his throat after he finished. Eric hummed in reply.

“While I would say I would prefer a secluded farm over the majesties of the palace, I feel that the place I desire most to be in the world is by your side.” Fitz felt a sigh escape his lips, though it was one of gratification. 

Swallowing, Fitz continued: “I believe I’ve been meaning to speak with you as well, my dove.”

Eric glanced at him, his brows raising. Fitz rarely ever sounded so serious, and in the many years he’d known him, Fitz had already proved to be a rather serious man. His grip on Fitz’s arm tightened as he urged him to continue.

“It has come to my attention...that I long ago came to a realization without even quite knowing, I fear.” Fitz swallowed. “I’ve realized, that even of pure, royal blood, I-...I am unfit to be king.”

Eric knew that this had been looming over them for a long time- for Fitz, it had been centuries- but he’d never voiced it until then. It wasn’t that Eric agreed, more that he could feel Fitz’s uncomfortable discontent every time he sat himself upon his throne or put his crown upon his head. He could feel it in the way Fitz held himself around his people, with his stiff back and languid steps, seeming anything but natural when he displayed himself as ethereal. He’d been holding onto his rope of sovereignty with such an anguished grasp that it was down to its last tethers, and yet, he persisted.

“The Elvish Throne was built on the bodies of my ancestors’ enemies. Since the dawn of our race, we have put ourselves above the rest of the world, and strove to spread our influence over the rest of the planet...and to fill the bottomless pit that had been dug into my soul by fear of failure, I took that philosophy to an entire new level.” Fitz stopped them, eyes welling with tears as he glanced hopelessly down at Eric. “How could you ever love me? How could I ever deserve my power?”

Eric took a gentle hold of Fitz’s hands, running his thumb over his knuckles as he stepped closer. “You’re not making any sense, my dear. We’ve both done unspeakable things we could never be forgiven for, but it has all been left in the past. It is there so that we may grow from it.” His grip tightened. “You are not the tracks you’ve left behind. I fell in love with the man you are now- a good king, and an even better man. With that said, the only person who can decide whether one is fundamentally good is themselves. So tell me, do you feel like a king, or do you feel like a man?” 

Fitz swallowed. His eyes mirrored a sea of glass, green and constantly shifting with the world around them. “I never felt like a king to begin with. I just felt empty.” 

He pressed his forehead to Eric’s, and suddenly, the world became clearer to them both. “I understand, now, what my future holds, and I know it is right. I shall serve my last act as king and bring peace to Erestia, and I will bring victory and truth. And when the dust settles...I’ll find a little cottage for us, somewhere among the wilderness, and I will leave my crown upon the throne.” 

“Are you sure?” Eric replied.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Fitz finished, then taking Eric’s hand and leading them once again on their way. 

As they ventured further, the sky only continued to grey over with clouds refusing to spill, brought on by nothing but the stench of death staining the air. He found it harder to breathe the deeper into the wood they went, and he could see that Fitz felt the same. Everything around them was dying, but this kind of death was unfamiliar. Death always left something behind, but every bit of life and rebirth was quickly fleeting. He already knew that lie ahead. 

Eric swallowed and tried to distract himself from the air escaping his lungs. “Who will take the throne when you’ve gone?”

“I can only imagine one candidate that I fully trust, but I’m not quite sure he’ll be up to it. He’s never been the outgoing sort.”

He only had to think for a moment before a knowing smirk crossed his face. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

One step further and they were both hit with the full force of the thing that was draining the life from the forest. Eric’s knees buckled but he refused to fall. He coughed, gasped and recovered himself, looking to Fitz for answers, and was given a worried glance in return.

“I can’t feel the tree, but I can feel the source of the dark around it. Can you run?”

Eric straightened his back, nodding and taking Fitz’s hand. He could tell that Fitz was in just as much pain as he was, perhaps even more so, yet they began to run through the forest, chasing whatever was warding them away. What had stolen the oxygen from the air was now trying to force them back, and Eric could physically feel the sort of barrier they were charging through, growing thicker until they were panting.

Eric hadn’t realized they’d stopped until Fitz’s hand slid from his own. Looking up, a tree loomed over them, nothing but a grey, dead trunk and its branches, and yet, he knew it was different from all of the others they’d passed. Everything around them was dead, and had been for some time. There was no wind, no sound, no life, and if they didn’t leave soon, Eric reckoned they may as well end up with the same fate. Whatever had done this didn’t want them there. That much was apparent.

“I don’t understand,” Eric choked. “What happened here?”

“This is the Primeval Tree.” Fitz tore the glove off with his teeth and placed his palm on the tree’s trunk, white hair befalling his face as his head sank with his eyes. 

A million thoughts ran through his head. This forest was suffering no differently than the rest of the world, but whatever the cause was, it had been sure to strike hardest at the heart of Erestia’s life. If this place had been completely drained, wouldn’t that mean that the rest of the world would soon fall with it? If there was no life being sustained at the source, its body would collapse in turn, and leave nothing but a shell. So what was it?

“What does this mean, Fitz?” Eric stepped forward, but refused to near the tree. “Who could have done this?”

“This tree has been drained before, but never to the point of death…” Fitz tore his hand away to approach Eric, placing his bare hand on his shoulder. “This enemy is not new to us. We’ve faced him before.”

“Him…” For a moment, he forgot to breathe, even with the impending suffocation looming about. 

This was no work of the Gods, nor a deity, nor a divine beast. This was much worse.

“What happens now?” Eric could see the fear welling in Fitz’s eyes, constantly shifting, yet now coming to a still with a single truth. “What do we do from here?”

“We continue to the Fane.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why would we do that?”

“We still have an audience with the Gods. There are secrets that have yet to be revealed, ones that our Smitius has yet to realize.”

Before Eric knew it, another wave of nausea overcame him while sparing Fitz, but he knew in an instant that it wasn’t caused by the forest. He could hear Vivian’s cries in the far distance, and her voice was clear in his head. 

“We need to go back to camp,” Eric choked, leaning on Fitz as he gasped for air. “Something’s coming.”

“What is it? What is she saying?” 

“I can’t tell, she’s so far away- but we need to go.” 

Fitz grabbed Eric by the hand and set off towards camp in a sprint, neither sure if they could keep up with their feet. Eric couldn’t tell how far they were from camp, only that it was far enough for the entire battle to be lost before they got there, and with both of their current states, he wasn’t sure whether they’d make it in time to gain the upper hand. 

Through their connection, Eric pleaded, as clearly as he could, that Vivian and the others keep the company safe, because the world was going to need them more than ever. 

~#~

“Incoming from the south! Assume position, prepare for anything!” Mason began barking orders as Vivian and her flock continued to growl and restlessly pace. Smitty stood at the edge of the clearing, his eyes closed as he felt and listened, the only one who could tell- in words- what was coming.

Jay twirled his sword, placing a hand on John’s shoulder as his gaze moved frantically about the area. “Stay behind me.”

“No.” John’s reply was immediate, and a great deal more forward than he’d thought it’d come out, but he knew that he was sure in his words. “I can handle myself.”

Jay looked hurt at first, but after a brief moment, his lips inched upwards into a grin. His hand fell from John’s shoulder. “Good luck, then. I’ll still be keeping an eye on you.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it,” John assured him. “Just focus on the fight. Don’t throw yourself in harm’s way for me.”

“Do you reckon you aren’t worth the trouble, then?” Jay inclined. “You do an awful lot of self-sacrificing, but I’m not sure you’ve ever really considered the cost.”

John’s mind went exactly where Jay must have wanted it to- kneeled before his king, death nearly at his door, and proud to be there. He’d been proud of his sacrifice, then, but John had to wonder (in the worst of times, he supposed) if it really was worth it. His actions seemed almost childish, now. He had charged his way onto a battlefield without ever thinking how he’d make it off.

“Harpies.” 

Smitty’s voice was low and sure, yet trembling all the same, and as he suddenly turned to the awaiting army, John saw a familiar look of fear in his eye. 

“ _Harpies!_ ”

Even without one set person in command, the army fell into place within moments, and was right on time for the onslaught that soon after clouded the sky. They came in a single flock and left no blue above them, only shadow and screams, and for a moment, the entire world went dark. Then, they descended.

John’s sword was drawn in a moment, and just seconds after, it pierced the chest of a harpie above him, its immense talons inches from his head. It broke free yet continued to thrash at him, wings bared with claws digging into the dirt. The harpy seemed just as unnaturally human as the stories had made them out to be. A human’s head with feathers for hair and the body of a predator bird. The creature he now faced was certainly a predator, but as he finally looked it in the eye, he could see just how human it really was- and in the worst moment, he froze.

It was only when its claws were inches away from his face that he swung, lodging his sword in its wing and using his strength to dismantle it while the harpy cried out in excruciating pain. With one final heave, he swung his sword, and drove it clear through the creature’s neck. 

He hadn’t completely decapitated the harpy, but its body fell anyway, its life swiftly slipping away by his feet. In the midst of the chaos, John then looked around him and saw that the dragons had taken to the skies- with their respective riders, no doubt- and more harpies fell, whether from the sky or ground level, with each passing second. Still, he could already see elvish bodies befalling the forest floor, nearly as many as that of the enemy. Above this all, however, John knew that this fight would be over soon enough.

Snapped from his stupor, a sudden and violent sprout of pain seized his back, and he realized that he’d let his guard down long enough for another harpy to strike. He lost all strength to stand as he doubled over in agony. Without thinking, he took his sword and swung behind him, lodging it in the harpy’s side as he fell upon his wound. 

The harpy took the sword from its side with a shrill shriek and moved to pounce. As he gazed up at his demise, he thought back to that final night in Feradonia, and to the balcony he’d shared with Eric. John had been right, he knew. Even if he’d had a chance, he never would have told Smitty of his adorations, of his strangely yet so dearly undying devotion. 

But it seemed Reylon had other plans for John on that fateful day, for as he once again began to welcome his quietus, his beloved came to his aid.

It was not a vine nor a root, but a swift-flying, wooden lance that passed straight through the harpy’s skull to skewer another of the enemy’s brethren upon exit. Smitty was at his side as it fell, lifelessly stunned, to the ground. Smitty used the last of his strength to push John onto his stomach, bearing his quickly-worsening wounds to the sky, and as he collapsed, he used whatever magic he may have had left to behind the process of healing.

They faced each other, their bodies unable to move, with Smitty’s single hand resting over the worst of the deadly gashes in his back. John wept and pleaded with strangled sounds, words unable to form, but Smitty refused to stop. He watched the energy slowly drain from the fairy’s eyes as he lay helpless. 

Smitty was going to die, John was going to live, and John couldn’t do anything but watch.

When Smitty’s eyes finally closed, John began to cry, his throat unable to weep with him. The battle was coming quickly to an end around them, but he didn’t care. Smitty was pale, and his hand was cold, and his chest was still, and he could only assume the worst.

Smitty had given everything for him to live. This was twice, now, that he’d put his life on the line, and this time, his life had actually been given if only to spare John’s own. But Smitty had to have known that watching his dearest companion, his greatest friend, die before him, was worse than even the deepest, hottest pits of the Underworld. 

And in the end, John knew that he just wasn’t worth the sacrifice. 

He could hear Jay calling for him, and he felt him at his side, his hand over Smitty’s own. He knew Mason had joined them, but he couldn’t bring himself to move to let them know he was still alive. His senses were quickly returning but his body still lay numb.

“...they’re both alive, but Smitius is dying, and quickly-” Mason hurried about them, panicking just as much as Jay. John felt a twinge of hope. He felt Smitty’s hand being torn from his back, and he felt the energy that had pooled there quickly dissipate. The magic still continued to soar throughout his limbs, healing him, just as Smitty had intended it to. “-he gave just about as magic as he could before he blacked out, which was nearly enough to start tearing apart his physical body. He needs more- energy- maybe, some kind of trans- transfusion-”

“Then do it!” Jay screamed, clutching at John’s body. 

“I’ve never performed one before! No one has!” 

“What can be done?” Fitz’s voice rang above him, but was accompanied by another pair of familiar footsteps. “And quickly?”

“I might be able to take just enough from the earth to get him stable-”

“The ground’s dry. I don’t think there’s much magic left.” Eric inclined, panting restlessly with anxiety.

“We have to try, we can’t just let him go like this…” Jay leaned down, running a hand through John’s hair. “Stay here, John, everything will be alright...”

Jay continued to mumble on, promising a seemingly impossible future. John wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that Smitty truly would be fine, and that John may have had another chance at evening their score, but he couldn’t hold on to reality for much longer. He feared opening his eyes to see Smitty’s corpse before him. The voices around him grew distant until he grew deaf to them.

A part of him had always guessed it would end like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: the story doesnt end like this lmaO
> 
> howdy yall!!!! you guys might have noticed that time between updates is getting longer, and thats because its actually getting a little hard to write this. its not the piece itself, just more of the fandom that ive decided to write it for. writing fanfic about real people is a tricky subject, and causes a lot of discourse, and seeing posts about why writers shouldnt even consider writing about real people has kind of ruined my morale as of late. it doesnt help when some of the people im writing about feel deeply uncomfortable with fanfic about them, and go as far as to trash on it, which has left me in a difficult position. im going to finish this fic, i promise, but it really is getting a bit hard for me to continue. the figures used in this story have every right to feel uncomfortable with writing like this- it's about them, so thats completely understandable- but i just dont want to leave you guys in the dark on why my schedule keeps getting longer.
> 
> to let you guys down just a little more, im gonna come out and say that neither of the stories i had planned may come after this one. im currently working very hard on a fic for hetalia (i know what youre thinking) and it's taking a lot of my time, effort, and energy to plan (it's ww2 while still in a universe where they're nations so theres a shit ton of research) and i really dont think i could juggle another fic while writing it, especially since im planning on posting the first chapter fairly soon (in a couple months or so). im not saying that either of the fics i planned will never happen, but this fic really is my passion right now, and im sure any other writers reading this can understand. 
> 
> on a different note, i think i could also use a few more comments as of late- not to sound greedy, sorry. i wanna know what you guys think of the story at the moment; is it too boring with the weight of the plot? i know most people read fanfic just for the ships and take whatever else they find along the way, so if you came here expecting a story that revolved around just the ships, im really sorry!!!! its just a thing of mine to throw characters into a plot and flesh out an entire universe, and its really hard for me to just write about the ship without some big event, you know? again, im really sorry to all who expected more krii7y, but i promise, they will get together at some point in the future!!!!!!!
> 
> thank you all again for reading, it really means so much to me!!!!!! remember, if you have a question about the plot or something that i didnt explain well enough in the story, dont hesitate to ask!!!!!!!!! have a wonderful day/night!!!!!!!!


End file.
